


The Silencer and the Sicarian

by The Manwell (Manniness)



Series: The Brothers Maxwell [4]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Duo POV, M/M, Solo POV, Trowa POV, Wufei POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 69,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/The%20Manwell
Summary: It was just one vow.  A simple but necessary promise to respect life -- both human and fey -- but can Duo hold to it when his resolve is put to the ultimate test?Sequel to "Duo and the Fey" and "Legends of the Fey" and "Legacy of the Silencer"
Relationships: Chang Wufei/Solo, Trowa Barton/Duo Maxwell
Series: The Brothers Maxwell [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/453973
Comments: 38
Kudos: 19





	1. In the Driver’s Seat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thenumber2pencil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenumber2pencil/gifts).



> Welcome to the fourth and final installment of the Brothers Maxwell series (a.k.a. Manny’s stupidly long Fey verse). I have been intending to write this fic (and especially its final scene) ever since I started writing the second fic (Legends of the Fey) but, y’know, life and stuff happened. Anyway, it feels great to finish the series. FINALLY. (^_^)
> 
> This fic is gifted to my fandom friend HB, who motivated me with love and art and MORE LOVE. You are gorgeous!! *HUGS FOREVER*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wufei POV
> 
> Warnings: sexytimes (Wufei/Solo)
> 
> Music recs  
> Wufei & Solo: “Give It Away” by The Fray  
> Manny’s Ominous Background Music: “Undone” featuring Fleurie and produced by Tommee Profitt

“Touch that radio and they’ll be finding bits of little brother along the highway from here to Timbuktu.”

I glanced from Solo’s wide, toothy grin to his younger brother’s outstretched arm, fingertips just one jostle of a pothole away from the truck’s decrepit and dusty radio dial. Solo didn’t even bother to take a hand off of the wheel. His bared teeth gleamed in the afternoon light.

Still leaning out from the backseat, Duo stubbornly singsonged, “Wrong continent, know-it-all.”

“Figure of speech, damn it.”

“Yeah? Well, if I have to listen to this stupid song one more time, I’ll go postal. And that’s both a figure of speech and a promise.”

Solo griped under his Cheetos-scented breath: “I knew we should have taken two cars.”

I snorted, drawing Duo’s gaze.

He aimed a wide grin at me. “Yeah, Wufei? You up for an encore of that fun, little debate we had? The one about who’s-gonna-ride-with-who and who’s gonna end up gettin’ pulled over for indecent exposure?”

“As entertaining as that had been,” I admitted, recalling Duo’s insistence that, absent the influence of a referee, Solo wouldn’t be able to go twenty miles without having to drop trou and compare size, “I doubt we’ll arrive at an alternate conclusion.”

“I ride with Duo,” Trowa flatly insisted from the backseat that he shared with his human companion and a small tower of files. A papery rustle punctuated the declaration; Duo’s consort was still reading through his previous incarnation’s notes. Most likely with Duo’s hand on his thigh. Rather than become irritable at his human spouse’s close proximity in the narrow confines of the moving van, the fey seemed even more demanding. Often lounging against the younger Maxwell’s side and insisting on an embrace as he scanned one account after another.

Duo never uttered a squeak of complaint as his fey husband alternately treated him like a piece of furniture or a security blanket. No, he aimed any and all unhappy opinions at his own elder brother. Such as his displeasure with the musical selection:

“Well, I refuse to listen to this frickin’ song!” With a flick of his fingers, he snapped off the radio. Blissful silence filled the cab. I sighed happily. So did the younger Maxwell as he resettled in the backseat. The fey hummed once in relief from directly behind the driver’s seat.

I hadn’t been aware that rental companies even offered extended cab moving vans, but they did. Luckily. Given the circumstances, it was our only option for relocating the contents of the Silencer’s quarters from the compromised Niagara base to the Las Vegas compound.

Duo was already calling it Area Fey One. “Like Area 51 -- get it?” he’d crowed when he’d fist coined the term, earning an eye roll from Solo and a blank look from Trowa.

And here I’d thought that no one could produce worse attempts at puns than Solo Maxwell.

The tires snapped against the asphalt for ten rhythmically relaxing seconds.

Solo lunged for the radio and punched the power back on.

Duo launched forward, jabbed it off, and covered the media console with a splayed hand.

Gawping, Solo sputtered, “Fucking hellfire, one more time isn’t gonna kill you!”

“It’s gonna kill somebody.”

“Fine. Then I’ll just whistle it--” Solo provided an earsplitting demonstration before drawling, “All the way there.”

“Rest stop,” Trowa tersely demanded just as a road sign flashed past the windows.

I muttered, “Thank the ancestors.”

“More Cheetos!” Solo hooted, throwing a fist toward the windshield in a battle cry that ended with the passenger side tires finding a teeth-rattling series of potholes.

“Son of a twitchy shit,” Duo hissed, collapsing back in his seat. He then vowed to the filthy ceiling liner: “I’m driving next. You can play Thumb Wars with Chang in the backseat for all I care. Just gimme eighty solid miles of pretending you don’t exist.”

Solo cackled. “Hey. I am a fucking gift to the universe.”

“Great. Who do I see about refunds and exchanges?”

I snorted, biting my lip because--

“Oh, ho. You think that’s funny, Chang?”

Meeting Solo’s dangerously glinting eyes, I replied, “Hilarious. I’ll explain the joke to you later. Eyes on the road for the time being, please and thank you.”

Shaking his head and muttering about a lack of sense of adventure, Solo switched on the winker and navigated toward the upcoming oasis. I kept an eye on the side view mirror; none of the vehicles trailing at a distance behind us moved to follow.

It only took one glance to see that the roadside facility wasn’t much to speak of -- more or less identical to the others along our meandering, forested route thus far: restrooms, vending machines, and a small moldering playground choked with weeds.

“What a shithole,” Solo muttered, aiming the truck between a pair of white lines in the empty parking lot.

“It serves its purpose,” Trowa suddenly volunteered.

“And what purpose would that be?” Solo challenged without any real heat as the truck jerked to a decisive and lead-footed halt.

An industrious shuffling of papers preceded an explanation as the fey assembled the files he’d finished reading. “The same purpose that woodland parks in the middle of human cities serve: there’s a dell entrance nearby.”

I heard Duo suck in a sharp breath.

“A -- say what now?”

“Then why,” I demanded, ignoring Solo’s blank-faced stupification, “did you insist on this route?”

“The territory is controlled by Mariemaia,” he answered smoothly. “Would you prefer to risk crossing paths with a fey once allied to Treize or Quinze?”

Treize and Quinze. Both fey masters that had fallen to the power of the Sicarian. A power that had rendered both -- in addition to several other influential fey -- to ash. A power that the young Duo Maxwell was still struggling to control.

And here we were with no backup whatsoever to guard against vengeful enemies. Solo had argued against sneaking out of the Niagara base like thieves in the night, but Duo had insisted: “It may not seem like it, but this is our best shot at dodging the next bullet. I’m not fucking around here, guys. We go off-grid and move fast. It’s now or never.”

Thus here we were: the four of us utterly alone in this venture. Anonymous and under the radar. Safe.

Or so we’d thought.

The hand Solo thumped against the steering wheel rebounded high and promptly dug itself into his bound hair, clawing clumps loose from his already frazzled ponytail. “Damn it, Tro-bro. This would’ve been nice to know a little earlier. Like… before hitting the road?”

I glared at the fey. Green eyes blinked once in clear ambivalence to Solo’s frustration and my ire.

Duo swore under his breath. Smacking Solo’s headrest, he pointed toward the nearby vending machine. “Look -- Cheetos at one o-clock. Wufei, go shit the stick outta your ass. C’mon, Tro. Let’s crack open the next box.”

My seat jolted in response to an insistent kick from Duo’s boot. “Let us out, man.”

With a huff, I levered the handle open and jammed my shoulder against the door, forcing the stiff hinges to comply. Stepping down, I pulled the passenger seat forward so that the younger Maxwell and his fey husband could scooch out into the autumn air. Duo was the first to leap down, reaching back for the stack of files that Trowa handed over without hesitation before slipping out of the backseat himself.

I watched them head for the rear of the truck. “That Andaluca is kind of a dick, babe,” Duo opined, lifting and waving the top file at his spouse. “Even for a fey.”

“Agreed, but his priorities are clear.”

“Yeah, that’s about all he’s got going for him,” I heard Duo mutter just before they disappeared behind the truck. An elbow bumped mine, coinciding with the sound of the rear loading door latch squealing open. Unsurprisingly, Solo had left the engine idling before disembarking and rounding the front of the vehicle to confer with me.

“Don’t like this,” he needlessly gritted out.

“We have little choice in the matter.”

He huffed. “Boston. New York. Niagara.” All too dangerous. He shook his head.

“Your brother and his fey consort cannot afford to be seen favoring either Winner or the clans,” I reminded him. In these early days of negotiations with the fledgling reincarnation of the council, the Sicarian and the Silencer could not appear biased. And as the association with the least amount of blood on its hands, the fey resistance was the best available option; when the mock Hilde had, in confidence, extended an offer of hospitality, we’d cautiously accepted. And I hoped we were making the right move, one that would not end up burning our bridges.

Just days ago, Duo had publicly vowed to respect life, both human and fey, before every member of the council. That first Skype meeting, he’d brashly promised to set the bar. What choice did the four of us now have except to see it done? And do everything in our power to ensure that Duo was not called upon to sit as judge, jury, and executioner. To fey or humans.

But if we encountered resistance on these wide, unending highways, the younger Maxwell’s good intentions would crumble to dust. The very possibility of future peace a stillborn concept.

Solo huffed. “Yeah, yeah. The Niagara base is great and all, except it’s missing a couple of front doors. I get it.”

But he didn’t like it.

Neither did I.

He scanned the rest area, ignoring the vending machines despite his earlier enthusiasm for day-glow orange, deep-fried snack foods. He gave no indication of entertaining the notion of venturing more than two steps from the truck. I concurred with his reluctance. The fact that we might be less than a hundred yards from a dell entrance did not engender confidence regardless of the truce that the Silencer and the Sicarian currently enjoyed with Mariemaia. The sooner we were back on the road the better.

Duo and his fey reappeared with another stack of files that I would not be permitted to examine. Solo looped an arm over the open truck door and lounged, grinning with expectation.

Lifting his chin, the fey declared, “I did not lie about our route.”

“Nope,” Solo agreed lightly. “You said it was the safest way. Said we’d have allies to cover our asses.”

A needful strategy indeed given Sally Po’s continued probationary management of the New York Clan; none of us could trust that a faction of hunters wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity to either confiscate or destroy the intelligence left behind by the original Silencer.

Others that we might have relied on were currently unavailable: Heero and Sylvia still resided in Europe as Relena worked to reinstate the council; Noin had remained back in Niagara to direct renovations and manage repairs; Master O and his network were keeping watch on Quatre Winner in Boston; even Hilde and the recently liberated Cathy had been unable to accompany us, assigned some secretive task that Duo swore we’d be thankful for.

I remained unconvinced. As unconvinced as Solo was of his brother-in-law’s innocent omission.

“Kinda sorta feeling like my bare ass is hangin’ out in the breeze here, Tro-bro.”

Duo snorted once in helpless reaction. Trowa’s visible eyebrow hitched upward, prompting Solo to get to the point.

“Would’ve been nice to know we were dell hopping instead of passing through resistance territory like I’d thought s’all I’m saying.”

“Yeah, well,” Duo interjected, “you know what they say about morons who assume.” Reaching for the files in Trowa’s grasp, he jerked his chin toward the backseat. “You first, babe. If I have to sit behind Solo, I’ll strangle him.”

Trowa hummed. Solo smirked. Duo rolled his eyes. I sighed.

Solo didn’t ask why Duo was letting him behind the wheel and Duo didn’t apologize for his fey husband’s lack of disclosure. We all climbed back into the truck. I made sure the radio stayed off.

It was a long remainder of the day and this was only the second in a five-day-long trek across the vast expanse of the United States. I didn’t bother to wonder if all of us would reach the end of this journey unscathed. My expectations were low. Very low.

“Jesus H. Christmas,” Solo muttered that evening as he stomped over the threshold of our shared motel room and kicked the door shut with a resounding **_**bang!**_** “Be glad you’re an only child, there, prodigal son.”

“If I remember correctly, your brother did encourage you to live your own life.”

“Hah. Yeah, that joke was only funny the first time around.”

Recalling the exact time and place of that particular conversation, I scoffed. “You would be crass enough to laugh in a cemetery, Maxwell.”

“I’d also swear, brawl, and dance in the moonlight.”

“Wonderful. Why not have a picnic and call bingo?”

Solo plopped gracelessly down on the bed nearest the door and chortled. “Hey, it’s a date, Chang! I was starting to think you’d never ask.”

I tossed my things onto the neighboring mattress. “Says the man whose motto is ‘better to ask forgiveness than permission,’” I retorted.

Leaning forward with his elbows braced on his sprawled thighs, Solo smiled toward my reflection in the age-speckled vanity mirror, eyes sparkling. “Uh-huh. I didn’t hear **_**you**_** offering any apologies for that kiss.”

Declining to comment, I surveyed the room. The linens were threadbare. The carpet was grungy. The furnishings were scarred with scratches from car keys and burns from cigarettes. As Duo had sarcastically drawled on first sight of the premises: **_**classy.**_**

“Still not hearing an apology.”

“You’re not hearing an offer of an encore, either,” I snapped, aghast that he would choose now of all times and places to bring the subject up. Perhaps in an effort to distract from the oncoming, rhythmic banging of the headboard in his brother’s room on the other side of the undoubtedly thin wall. If last night had been any indication, we could expect the racket to commence imminently.

Solo huffed. “Fucking hellfire. How do you ever get laid with an attitude like that?”

Spinning around, I found myself face to face with my nemesis and roommate, who was no longer lounging on the bedbug-infested mattress. He was braced for battle just on his side of the invisible line that ran midway between the sagging double beds.

I bit out, “This may come as a shock, but not everyone in the world shares your priorities.”

He tilted his head, lips curving into a grin that was dangerously shy and charming. “You do.”

“I do -- what?”

“Share my priorities. Or are you really just here for the Sicarian after all?”

I glanced away, jaw clenched. “Don’t be absurd.” He’d made his point; I no longer viewed his younger brother as a means to an end. In all honestly, I hadn’t since I’d approached Duo Maxwell in that rancid, dingy alley in Boston, flushed with the thrill of discovery and intending to secret him away somewhere familiar. Safe ground. A place where the Sicarian could have been revealed unbeknownst to the rest of the world and kept that way. In separating him from his brother and fey, I’d hoped to protect them all. Naturally, my good intentions had been in vain. Such is life. In my experience.

“It’s late,” I reminded Solo. “And you snore.”

“Do not.”

“Loudly.”

“I’m not loud!”

I couldn’t help it -- I laughed. Right in his incredulous face.

He beamed. Chuckled as if my mirth were contagious. Grasped my face in his hands and angled in.

A soft kiss upon my lips.

I stopped laughing.

“What--” My growl came out in a thin rasp. Clearing my throat, I began again. Angrily. “Back off.”

He was close enough to inhale my words. Perhaps he was. “You first.”

“You will regret this,” I predicted darkly and he smirked.

“Only if it’s memorable.”

Insufferable clod. How fortunate that I was well-versed in dealing with arrogance of his caliber.

A foot hooked behind his heel. I spun about -- a maneuver that would send him tumbling to the floor.

But he’d anticipated, shifted his weight, and I found myself off-balance.

Two large hands shoved me back toward my bed.

I landed hard. Bounced. Solo was upon me in an instant, bracing my thighs down and capturing both arms above my elbows.

“Off--” I wheezed. “Get off.”

“So nice of you to offer. I think I will.”

Soft lips and a hot mouth latched onto my neck. I shuddered. Shivered. Reminded my limbs to move as I resisted, twisted, refused to surrender. “Your aim would be more expeditiously met alone and with a moist towel in hand, Maxwell.”

He licked at the line of my pounding pulse. “This isn’t only about the finish line,” he lectured and thereby further incensed me.

“Indeed. You’ve committed to a venture of indeterminable duration and the only other human in the immediate vicinity is your brother.” I summoned up a glare and waited for an opening to headbutt him back to his own bed. “I’m merely the default recipient of your pawing.”

He chuckled, nuzzling below my ear. “If this is how you’d fight off a grizzly, then your ass is gonna end up getting mauled one of these days.”

“Maxwell, pick your irritating hide up off of me. Now.”

He leaned back swiftly, moving too quickly for me to launch an offensive. With a smirk, he agreeably relented. “Sure. No problem.” As he lunged back and just beyond arm’s length, he added, “I’ll just set aside the fact that if you really felt that way, you woulda called me something a helluvalot worse than ‘Maxwell.’”

I gawped at his challenge. His cocky smile. The pink tongue that swept over his lower lip as if catching escaped drops of ambrosia. With a vivid curse, I struck, kicking him squarely and with precision. A shot meant to tumble my opponent rather than incapacitate. He landed on the opposite mattress with a **_**crash!**_**

And I landed atop of him, batting aside his token efforts to resist my hands as I unzipped his track jacket and bound both of his arms up in the sleeves.

“Why,” I huffed into his flushed face as he relented and lay perfectly relaxed beneath my weight, “must you resort to antagonism?”

He affected a lackadaisical shrug. “It gets your attention.”

“Troglodyte.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Talk dirty to me, Wufei,” he invited with a smile that made my blood boil.

He grunted as I swooped down to bite and lick and take his mouth. That ridiculously obnoxious mouth and wicked tongue which indefatigably fought back against the onslaught of my ire. Counting with provocations and insults, irreverent grins, and now passionate, hungry kisses.

Solo’s torso flexed beneath me as he surged up, battling for domination. I declined to let him wrest control from me, scooting back until his pelvis pressed up against my seat, seeking the ultimate humiliation -- I would awaken his body, force a response just as he unrepentantly did to me day in and day out.

However.

Solo Maxwell was already hard. Iron hard and straining against the fly of his jeans.

The air left my lungs in a rush and, in my moment of inattention, he bucked up.

Unseated, I snarled, grabbed for his shirt and he fell over me as I yanked at the fabric. His weight settled again on my thighs as his mouth seared a panting-scorching-possessive kiss upon mine. Then. Then. He aligned us and thrust.

“Fuck!” I gasped, a fist tangling in his hair.

He let me pull his head back, expose his throat, and he laughed with elation and relief. “Now we’re on the same page, lover.”

“Don’t,” I snarled, “call me that.”

“It’s true.”

I grabbed for his neck. “Not yet it isn’t.”

“So,” he drawled, “we gonna do something about that?”

I sucked in one breath. Another. And a third as I considered his glittering eyes, swollen lips, and arched spine. This was the moment of decision. He was no longer restraining me with any appreciable force. I could either fight him off, or fight for what he was offering.

“Wufei,” he rasped and that masculine baritone made breathy with want zoomed straight down my spine. “It’s been twelve years.”

Indeed. Childhood confusion and petty jealousy had fed and inflamed our school days rivalry, but then -- upon our sudden reunion on the streets of London -- an edgy contest of wits and wills had emerged as we’d gravitated helplessly toward one another, falling back on insults and thrown punches to keep each other at a distance. I no longer questioned why my adolescent self had stared at Solo Maxwell, glaring as he strutted down the hall, toweling his hair dry and steam still clinging to his skin from the dorm showers. I no longer wondered why -- of all the opponents at my disposal -- it was Solo Maxwell I eagerly sought out on the sparring mat, then and now. This infuriatingly headstrong, crude barbarian had more honor and conviction -- more courage and faith -- more strength of spirit than anyone I’d ever met.

“Twelve,” Solo repeated, “Goddamn years. It’s time to shit or get off the pot.”

“What,” I hissed, “did you just say?”

He laughed.

I bared my teeth and struck, twisting beneath him and rolling us both until our legs tangled into an unbreakable judo hold. “Cretin,” I informed him, tearing the track jacket off of his forearms and sending it flying.

“Hey, who’s worse?” Solo gamely retorted as he curled up and tugged his T-shirt over his head. My bare hands on his bare chest shoved him down flat and his grin widened. “Who’s worse, the guy who says it or the guy who gets off on it?”

“I do not,” I objected, “get off on your unoriginal vulgarity.”

“Yeah?” he panted, clutching my hips and steadying me as I grabbed for my own shirt, whipping it off and sending it soaring across the room. “So if I told you that I wanna see your cock -- wanna jerk you off hard and fast while I suck your tongue down my throat -- you’d--”

There was no point in answering a hypothetical question when a simple demonstration would suffice. Buttons and zippers unfastened, fabric bunched and tangled around our thighs. Solo’s hands tightened on my hips, rubbing us together, rough and perfect. The band restraining my hair slipped out at some point, perhaps when Solo rolled us back and pinned me down, clamped a hot fist around my steaming length as he inhaled my tongue into his mouth. His own hair fell shaggy and flaxen around his shoulders and when I wasn’t clawing through those tangled tresses and across his scalp, I was scraping furrows in his broad, muscular back.

“Jesus, hellfire and damnation,” he barked hoarsely, flexing helplessly under my hands.

And then I curled a tight fist around his arousal. Pumped him rough and graceless. I was made furious with need as his merciless grip pummeled my nerves, sent waves of brutal heat flashing over my skin, pounded the breath from my lungs and stole the spit from my tongue.

“Solo Maxwell,” I somehow gritted out, “if you don’t come within the next sixty seconds, I will kick your ass.”

Goose flesh pebbled his skin as he gasped. Tilted his brow against mine. Opened his blue eyes. Grinned. “Give it your best shot, lover.”

I did.

And when Solo Maxwell came, he came hard. Eyes wide open, blank with shock and heat and his body trembled, rocking me to the core from head to toe. And then he was folding down toward me, sucking greedily, mindlessly, on my neck and murmuring filthy things--

“Wrap your legs around me--yeah, just like that. Wanna give it to you so good. Gonna taste you--lick us up while you watch--”

One hand shoved down the back of my loosened pants, rocked and rolled me into his grip and--

Holy fucking ancestors save me.

The sparks that had turned my fingers into claws and curled my toes exploded. Heat -- a nuclear white-out. Ears deaf and ringing as my body thundered through a breath-stealing climax, curling me up into him, blind to everything except blinding light and slick skin. 

I panted hotly into Solo’s loose hair. Damp and sweaty and--

And when I let myself fall back onto the mattress, Solo was there. Smiling. “Hey there, beautiful,” he purred. Tucked a kiss against my shoulder as his gaze remained locked on mine. And then, lifting his mouth, he sucked two glistening fingers between his lush lips. Closed his eyes and shivered at the taste of our combined essence.

“Fuck,” I choked out.

He snickered through his nose and, pulling his fingers clear, mused aloud: “That’s what I love about you -- always stating the obvious.”

To test that theory, I breathlessly informed him, “You are done running from this. From now on, the only bed you fall into will be mine.”

With a low, throaty chuckle, he acquiesced, “You got it, lover.”

And, it appeared, I also had him. Grasping onto his firm buttocks, I smirked.

**_**Thump!** _ **

Solo’s bright grin melted into horror and my gaze darted to the far wall. On the other side of which Solo’s little brother and fey brother-in-law were currently residing.

**_**Thump! Thump! Thump!** _ **

At the sound of a knocking headboard, a hot forehead fell to the center of my chest and Solo muttered, “Son of a--I don’t believe this shit.”

I groped for his left wrist and angled his unresisting arm up so I could check the time. “They’re behind schedule.”

A weak laugh. “And I’m outta gas.” Sucking in a chest-swelling breath, Solo looked up and bragged, “Or else I’d suggest we start on Round Two.”

I pushed at his shoulders. “Get off of me, oaf.” He did and I wasted no time manhandling him toward the bathroom.

“Eh?” he mused. “Sexy shower time?”

“Service area pit stop,” I retorted crisply and he guffawed up at the ceiling so loudly I thought I saw cracks form and motes of asbestos rain down. The couple in the neighboring room had definitely heard that. No matter how preoccupied they might be.

“I hate you,” Duo told Solo by way of morning greeting in the motel parking lot not eight hours later.

“What? Don’t tell me I killed the mood, D-man.”

Turning to me, he tersely muttered, “Just, for the record, diabolical laughter after dark is so -- not -- cool. So. Do something about that.” The **_**or else**_** was left to shimmer and echo unsaid in the air.

Arching a brow, I drawled, “If you’re suggesting that I invent other uses for your brother’s mouth--”

“Yes,” Trowa drolly interjected, sidling up behind the younger Maxwell, “Take one for the team.”

Duo’s head snapped back on a bark of laughter before twisting to look over his shoulder at his spouse. With his sparkling eyes trained on his husband’s very satisfied smile, he agreed: “Works for me.” Speaking to me again, his hand curling around the arm now spanning his middle, Duo added, “Either that or knock him unconscious.”

“Hey, pea-brain,” Solo butted in.

Duo volleyed, “Hay is for horses, jackass.”

“I have the keys.” He spun the key chain around on his index finger with a showy clatter. “Shut up and get in or I’m locking you in the cargo space for the rest of the day.”

“Ooh, the cargo space. Tro and I could work with that.”

“We’ll need more lube,” the fey warned, startling a wheezing laugh from me and causing Solo to spin on his heel and march for the driver’s side door.

“Not listening!” he bellowed, uncaring of whether there were motel guests endeavoring to sleep at this early hour.

Duo patted his husband’s rear end as the fey moved toward the open passenger door. Biting his lip and green eyes glittering at his companion, the fey dutifully climbed in.

“Hey, man,” Duo said, smacking my arm. “That idiot brother of mine still stringing you along?”

“On that subject,” I replied in a confidential tone, “I will say only this: the tables have turned.”

“Heh. About damn time.” He grabbed the hand that Trowa extended to him and blurted, “Tonight, you guys are gettin’ a room way the hell away from ours. Got it?”

“Would that necessity permitted it,” I answered and Duo sighed. Further conversation was delayed until we’d located a roadside diner and gift shop. We ate, indulged in free refills of coffee and tea, and then hit the road once more.

Some miles later, as Solo’s restless gaze landed on the radio and his hand twitched as if he might dare to turn the device on, I suddenly asked one of many questions in need of answering: “Duo, would it be accurate to say that the Sicarian fails to protect you from non-magical encounters?”

The fey lowered the files in his hands and gave Duo his undivided attention. Solo’s gaze darted away from the road and toward his brother.

There was a long exhalation. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Been thinking about that. The simplest explanation is that there wasn’t a fey hand in any of that because even the fey who shot me with a regular gun and normal bullets ended up getting the big barbecue special, so…”

“Those threats you saw coming,” I pointed out.

“OK. Maybe, yeah. But I saw the suitcase, too. Knew it was gonna hit. Didn’t think it was gonna explode or anything but still, how’s that so different from a bullet? The instinct to brace yourself is still there.” Aiming his next words toward his elder brother, he checked, “You chucked that suitcase into the falls?”

“I did do that.”

“By yourself?”

Solo snorted. “Seriously, dumb-bro? You think I’d need a hand with one piddly--”

“I’m just trying to clarify something here, Mister Machismo. It’s important.”

“Yeah, OK. Nobody touched the suitcase except for me.”

“OK, so… I think that’s the reason. You,” the younger Maxwell insisted, clarifying nothing whatsoever.

I glanced at the fey, who was scowling in confusion. “Duo…”

“We’re brothers,” he reminded us all. “And fey don’t have anything like that, right? Family bloodlines or whatever. What if… maybe the Sicarian can’t tell the difference between us.”

The fey blinked, visibly startled. The files in his grasp buckled and crinkled.

Solo scoffed and started arguing: “More like it couldn’t decide who to blame -- the submarine, the suitcase, or me. Or hell, what about the asshole who made the bomb in the first place. Maybe he fried. We just weren’t there to see it.”

“But then I wouldn’t have been injured,” Duo argued. “If a fey’s involved, then they’re the ones who get hurt -- not me.”

“Well, OK, but what if--”

Tuning out and turning away, I considered all the times I’d coached Solo and Duo during their sparring sessions, which had been far rougher than my own against the younger Maxwell. Still, despite hard tumbles and dark bruises, the Sicarian had not emerged once. I’d assumed that was because Duo hadn’t been facing off against a fey.

My spine jerked ramrod straight as I inferred and inquired: “Who else, besides fey, has the Sicarian responded to?”

Solo’s jaw clicked shut in mid sentence.

This time, the fey didn’t tense.

Duo answered, “No one, but that beat-to-hell, sliced up mattress back at the Niagara base?”

Solo squinted, searching his memory. In the interest of moving things along, I supplied it: “In the room where we spoke following Winner’s capitulation.”

Duo nodded once. “Right. That. I did that.”

With a hiss, Solo pressed, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wish I was. It’s not automatic like it is with fey -- I gotta focus, but yeah. Pretty sure nobody’s one-hundred percent safe around me. ‘Cept for maybe you -- if my theory’s right -- and Tro. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” I checked, swiveling around. The fey lifted a finger and traced the pale scar on his left temple.

“It was unintentional,” he said, and Duo admitted, “I didn’t even mean to do it. I was just -- really upset and… damn it, I’m sorry.”

His agonized apology was swiftly followed by surprisingly gentle forgiveness: “It’s all right.”

“It was damn lucky is what it was. A little more to the right and you’d have lost an eye, babe.”

“Hold up,” Solo barked, bracing himself against the wheel. “I thought you needed to make contact for the Sicarian to do its thing?”

Duo sighed. “Nope. Sometimes just a gesture is enough.”

“Quinze,” I supplied, synthesizing previously compiled evidence.

“Yeah. He was all the way across the room, but it still worked.” Shaking his head, Duo mumbled, “I sliced that mattress in half from a couple of paces away. Put a gash in the wall behind it without even touching it. Wasn’t the only time I’ve done something like that.”

I looked at Solo as his jaw locked and clenched. This time, as the silence lengthened, no one moved to turn on the radio.

Duo sighed and when his voice came, it was muffled. Directed downward as though he were bracing his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. “I have no frickin’ clue what I can and can’t do. I mean, Mareen wasn’t hurt when she chucked shit at me even though I busted it all to hell, but what’ll happen if I don’t even see it coming? Are we talking about a rebound-effect? A shock wave that takes out everyone in the room? Or nothing at all? I just--just--God. Damn. It.”

A small sound -- a pained mewl -- had me gawping at the fey as he carelessly tossed the priceless files aside, unbuckled his seat belt, and scooted toward Duo, wrapping his distraught husband up in his arms. He vowed in a low murmur, “You’ll never have to find out, Duo. You won’t ever face that danger alone.”

A swallow stuck in my throat.

Solo grunted. “Yeah, I’ll second that. We’ve got your back, li’l bro.”

“Damn it, Solo, just shut up with the nicknames for once.”

The show of moxie kicked the corner of Solo’s lips up into a smirk.

I considered the conundrum. It was the height of stupidity for us to leave these avenues unexplored. The Sicarian was a weapon without a user’s manual and now it appeared that its range was wider than had first appeared. Perhaps its provocations were similarly varied.

“Further investigation is required,” I declared. As Solo opened his mouth to argue against it, I succinctly stated, “I volunteer myself as a would-be assassin -- provided that Trowa agrees to remain alert and offer to heal anyone of us who may require it.”

A soft growl rumbled from the backseat.

“Tro,” Duo coaxed. “We gotta know. Better now than in the middle of a fight. You guys have no idea if you can count on me.”

His husband snarled, “I cannot promise not to kill Wufei if he executes a lethal attack against you.”

“That’s bullshit,” Solo accused. “You saved Meiran.”

“After I’d calmed enough to be receptive to your argument in favor of letting her live.”

A beat of silence. And then Duo worriedly asked, “You really can’t promise to save Wufei?”

“No. My instincts will demand nothing less than the elimination of anyone who attempts to take you from me.”

Well. My brows lifted and I again sought Solo in silent conference. He didn’t look happy over this revelation. The sheer, uncompromising **_**possession**_** that the fey was displaying. I half expected the younger Maxwell to lose his temper. Violently.

Duo reached for and tightly grasped his fey husband’s hand in silent solidarity.

“Hey,” Solo spoke up, “this whole deal -- testing shit and whatever -- I just wanna go on the record here: I am not cool with it.” He glared my way briefly. “I get where this is coming from, but no. We need to stick together. Stand together. Trust one another and ourselves. That’s not going to be possible if someone gets hurt.” Tone sharpening, he told his brother, “You’ve warned us and that’s plenty. Just keep us in the loop, D-man. We’ll be fine.”

I sniffed, but refrained from arguing despite the fact that I had quite a lot to say to Solo Maxwell on the matter. However, my opinion would be better expressed in private.

As soon as our motel room door closed behind us that evening, I accused: “You are well aware that I would never be sloppy or careless in testing your brother’s defenses.” No, neither lack of trust nor dearth of confidence in my abilities had been behind his categorical refusal. “What is the real reason you would have all of us kept in ignorance of the Sicarian’s abilities?”

He stopped in the center of the room, gave a humorless laugh, and then--

**_**BAM!** _ **

I startled at the clamor of his overnight bag striking the nearest bed with enough force to send it ricocheting into the wall before sliding to the carpet in a heap.

I belatedly recalled that Solo had been a decent pitcher whenever our class had assembled for an afternoon game of baseball. A fearsome dodgeball opponent as well. He hadn’t lost those skills.

“Wufei,” Solo gritted out. “I’m not agreeing to let you just--no. I won’t let you do it.”

“But--”

“Look. Setting aside the fact that someone could get hurt -- really hurt -- and then that would be all on you. Forever. Setting that aside, you didn’t see what Trowa did to Meiran. You weren’t there, so you don’t know how close she came to dying.” His fingers burrowed into his own hair and clenched. “And, fuck, she didn’t even lay a hand on my brother. All she did was talk trash about how Duo would be better off dead than stuck married to a fey and--”

Solo’s throat locked up and his Adam’s apple dipped.

“One punch and it was over.” Looking at me, he shook his head. “Suppose that punch lands on your skull? There’d be nothing left to heal.”

For a moment, neither one of us spoke or moved. I studied the tense lines carving into his brow and bracketing his mouth. Listened to his rapid, rasping breaths.

Unsettled by the raw fear and naked rage, I moved toward the second bed and carefully mused, “Your brother didn’t seem overly concerned.”

“Duo,” Solo replied hotly, “has only ever seen Trowa go up against other fey. He doesn’t know -- he doesn’t get it -- like, look. I know Meiran can kick my ass. Hell, she can take on both you and me at the same Goddamn time and come out without so much as broken nail to show for it.” Solo crossed the distance between us and hissed, “Trowa squashed her like a bug.”

A shiver raced up my spine.

Rather than lean back, he inched closer. “So, no. I’m not cool with you provoking him. We don’t need to know what the Sicarian can or can’t do, will or won’t do. It’s not worth the risk.”

I disagreed.

Pressing a finger to my parted lips, he reminded me, “There’s three of us that the enemy has to get through in order to even have a hope of laying a finger on Duo. And, to be completely honest with you, I don’t think anyone can get past Trowa.”

“They did once before.” The fey’s head was still in the London Clan archive.

“Yeah, but we don’t know the circumstances.” Solo shrugged. “He’d just escaped from getting mind-fucked by a bunch of fey scientists -- I think we can assume he wasn’t at the top of his game.”

Perhaps so. But as the fey himself could not provide an account of the events prior to his death, we had little more than supposition to consider. I offered another factor: “If we’d realized -- before last night -- how little we understood about the Sicarian, would you have been so quick to veto my offer?”

Solo blinked. Reared back. Chuckled mirthlessly. “Wow. A real high opinion you’ve got of me, Chang.”

I watched, blinking with confusion, as he stomped over to his tumbled bag and jerked it up from the floor. Tossed it on his bed. Kept his back to me.

“I did not mean--” I began. Paused. Flushed with shame when realization swept over me. “I know you are neither callous nor a fool.”

“Uh huh.”

I reached out, gripped his arm but made no attempt to maneuver him around to face me. “But I have never known you to act against your heart.”

This time, his mirth was colored with exasperation. “Right, and after one night, you think I’ve suddenly got hearts in my eyes.” He snorted, shook his head, and pulled away. “Get with the fucking program, Chang.”

Before I could sort through his logic, he tore open his bag and started rummaging, punching his way through the haphazardly packed and jumbled contents. “I won’t let you do it now, and I wouldn’t have let you do it back at O’s farm, not if I’d known we were gonna be at the mercy of pure fucking fey instinct. I might -- **_**might**_** \-- have been stupid enough to agree to something like this back in London, before I’d seen Trowa at the end of his rope.”

Speechless, I gaped as Solo let out an abrupt sigh. Change of clothes in hand, he turned and met my stare. One corner of his mouth kicked up and he lifted a hand to my chin, nudging my jaw shut with a single knuckle. “For such a smart guy, you can be a real idiot.”

He brushed past me and barricaded himself in the bathroom, pushing the door shut all the way. Frowning, I assembled my own sleepwear and toiletries.

There was no possible way for me to misunderstand. Whatever he felt about the recent shift between us was neither sudden nor new. He wasn’t looking out through rose-tinted glasses. There was deep respect and irresistible chemistry, yes. Plus, we’d known each other since we were thirteen, and we’d faced all manner of adversity together. The intensity of these past months had punched a crater in our lives, an epicenter we gravitated toward. Last night, we’d skidded into contact along the slope we’d both been navigating for a very long time.

Solo Maxwell was not schooled in rhetoric or particularly articulate. He was blunt to the point of rudeness. Events from the night before had not factored in to his resistance. He truly did believe that I would be placing myself in mortal peril. Well, it was nice to be given evidence that he did not consider me expendable, but in all honestly, that was not a new deduction. No, what kept me rooted to the worn carpet was the fact that Solo had made no secret whatsoever of his affections. Or of his confidence in mine.

And that -- that did surprise me. I hadn’t expected him to be so observant, or to place so much faith in me.

It was a genuinely rewarding sensation. I shared it with him when he emerged from the bathroom, daring to block his path and wrap a hand around the back of his neck. Tilt my head to an accommodating angle and deliver a soft, smiling kiss to his minty lips.

“Thank you,” I told him before he could shatter the moment by blurting some sort of crude demand for explanation. “For having my back.”

He ducked his head and snickered, giving me a mischievous look. “It’s a pretty great back… goes good with your pretty great everything-else.”

“I’ll do us both a favor and assume you’re referring to my intellect.”

“Hell, Wufei. You know you’re smart. That’s not much of a compliment coming from a guy who didn’t even apply for college.”

“You were barely an adult, shouldering the weight of adult priorities.” Yes, I was well aware that Solo had sought immediate, steady employment for the sake of rescuing his little brother from the foster system. “I’ve always admired your sense of honor.”

“Whoa,” Solo breathed, leaning in to nibble my lower lip. “Purple prose and all. What’s the occasion? Or did I really make you feel like that much of an ass just now?”

“On the subject of asses,” I drawled, skating a hand down his side and around for a grope, “I’m afraid my views are hopelessly biased.”

He grinned. “Well, lookit that -- years of hard work finally paid off.”

Indeed. Hard work, persistence, and patience.

Well, two out of three, as they say.

Just as it had twenty-four hours previous, slumber found me quickly. Body sated and mind at rest. And the arrival of a new day found me sprawled upon Solo’s bare back, my hips tucked snugly against his side, my being flushed with warmth and intimacy. I caressed him awake with ghostly touches and reverent butterfly kisses. He eagerly rolled into my embrace and we savored the feel of one another until the familiar rush left us gasping and disheveled.

“Permit your brother to drive today,” I proposed, looking away from my blank-minded contemplation of the ceiling to watch Solo’s blue eyes open.

“Hm. You say words, but all I hear is how bad you wanna fool around with me in the backseat.”

“You,” I huffed, “are insufferable. Your brother would dump the both of us in the ditch and happily continue on his way.”

“Not if we teach him and Tro a thing or two.” He waggled his brows.

I smacked him with a pillow. “How quickly you abandon the ‘no details’ rule.”

Solo rolled over onto his back and let out a long breath. “Yeah. That whole no details thing has bitten us on the ass more than once.”

At my inquiring look, Solo elaborated, “Consort and companion shit that Duo should have been told way the hell sooner.”

I dared to observe, “Your brother doesn’t appear to resent it.”

“Naw. He’s too young and in love to hold a grudge.”

I smirked. “So you’ll do it for him.”

Solo barked out a laugh. Luckily, it wasn’t one of his diabolical ones. “Eh, it’d just piss him off if I did that. But I do keep score.”

I did not doubt it: “An older brother’s prerogative.”

Following breakfast, he claimed another: backseat driving.

“Hey, doofus,” Solo blurted, leaning into the space between the front seats of the truck cab. “You missed the turn-off.”

“No, I didn’t,” Duo cheerfully rebuked.

Solo scowled. “You do know where Las Vegas is, don’t you?”

“Sure. Just south of El Hermano Silencio. Por favor.”

Brows arching, Solo barked, “Seriously? I’m not in the need-to-know club, here?”

“Wufei looks lonely. Maybe you should do something about that.”

“Wufei,” I retorted, “is bored.” And I was trying very hard not to envy Trowa his undoubtedly fascinating reading material.

Duo snorted. “Told ya to get that book of Sudoku puzzles, man.”

Yes, he had. I sniped, “A logic puzzle that doesn’t even require all ten fingers to solve. Yes, such a challenge.”

“Teaching it to my brother would definitely be that.”

“I am not a masochist.”

“Oi!” Solo blustered. “Knock it off with the snide one-liners and straight up tell me where we’re fucking going, Duo.”

All levity in the truck cab was suddenly snuffed out by tense silence. On the steering wheel, Duo’s grip tightened as he glared harder at the oncoming asphalt. “Gotta do a thing.”

“What kind of thing?” When his brother didn’t immediately respond -- didn’t even suck in a lungful of air for forming words, Solo bit out, “You get that Wufei and I are here to watch your damn back, right? You really gonna keep us in the dark?”

“Of course not! I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

“You have told us jack shit!”

“Well, if you’d shut your big mouth for ten damn seconds, I will.”

Solo bit down on a retort and glared.

Drawing in a deep breath, Duo said, “Hilde and Cathy have been looking for the fifth philosopher. A guy called Instructor H. They found him. Convinced him to meet with us. We’re heading there now for a little chat.”

“What for?” Solo asked for both of us.

Duo cued his fey husband with a look, and Trowa reluctantly revealed, “I’m still banished from fey lands. H is the only one who can rescind it.”

Solo jerked. “Whoa, what about that dude Quinze? I thought he was the master at your dell or whatever. And when he bit it, that sorted out your problem?”

“It’s not that simple; he yoked Cathy and compelled her to knit H’s power with his own.”

“What the hell for?” Solo grumped and I was equally irritated at my own ignorance. “Insurance?”

“No.” Trowa looked at Duo, who briefly returned his seeking gaze with a worried frown. “We suspect that was what created the Sicarian.”

“Hold up. You’re telling me that we’re gonna go have a sit-down with the asswipe that’s responsible for all the shit you both have been through?”

“Uh huh,” Duo agreed. “Now you see why I wasn’t in a big hurry to fill you in?”

Solo snorted. “Why bother now?”

The fey leaned around the edge of his seat to glare at both of us. “Because you must not -- under any circumstances -- attempt to harm or kill a philosopher.”

“So-bro, you gotta admit that you don’t deal so well with surprises.” Duo sighed. “And if those shit smears G and J are any indication, then H is gonna wanna brag about his pet project. A whole fucking lot.”

In the absence of further words, only the hum and snap of tires on asphalt filled the cab. I remembered Duo’s willingness to threaten the philosophers at Treize’s mountainside estate. I wondered what sort of repercussions killing them would have had. Wondered what had brought about the younger Maxwell’s change of perspective.

“Say I break his fucking neck,” Solo snarled, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

Duo shook his head, but it was Trowa who answered in a tone I’d only ever heard from the Silencer as he’d commanded his fey: “Something you’ll no longer be around to witness.”

Speechless, Solo slumped back against the musty cushions.

Setting aside intellectual queries for the time being, I expressed a more pragmatic concern: “What will this Instructor H demand in exchange for lifting the banishment?”

“Dunno,” Duo breathed out. “G and J wanted to be invited into the fey resistance so they could do some recon and pass info on to their pet Winner. But O and S seem to wanna help us, so…” He shrugged helplessly.

Solo blurted, “Didn’t Mariemaia say that these philosopher dudes each have a different character or something? That they can’t all work together for long?”

The fey looked at his human companion who shrugged. “Up to you, Tro.”

A moment of consideration passed before Trowa tilted his chin in acquiescence. “It’s common knowledge among the fey, and no hunter would be foolish enough to act on it.”

Solo hummed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that…”

With a blistering glare aimed at my seatmate, I vowed to Trowa, “You have our word that it will be kept in the strictest of confidence.”

With a short nod, he he began: “Each philosopher has two compatible allies and two opponents.” Trowa lifted a finger and drew a five-pointed star into the air. “Imagine a pentagram. At each point is a fey philosopher. The ones to his immediate left and right are allies. The two across from him are opponents.” Retracing the invisible figure, Trowa recited: “Curiosity, logic, pragmatism, discipline, inspiration.”

“Master O is discipline,” Solo anticipated.

“Yes. Doctor J, curiosity. Professor G, logic. Doktor S, pragmatism.”

“Which leaves Instructor H -- inspiration,” Duo concluded. “And given what philosophers **_**do,**_** I’m not really looking forward to hearing what this asshole might want from us.”

“What do philosophers do?” Solo asked before I could.

The fey mused, “Imagine if one day, all the humans in the world vanished. Would the Earth still be here, spinning around the sun?”

“Well, duh,” Solo retorted.

Trowa arched a brow. “The same is not true for the fey realm.”

Ignoring Solo’s befuddled expression, I pressed for clarity, “You are saying that the fey lands would cease to exist without the fey themselves?”

“It’s more… delicate than that,” Duo corrected me. “Like, the human world is made of atoms and stuff. And there are forces that bring it all together so that we get solar systems and planets with water and oxygen…” He waved toward the overcast sky. “An atmosphere conducive to life.”

“The fey realm is drawn from the minds of individual fey,” Trowa explained. “The philosophers are what hold everything together. Through their efforts, our lands manifest.”

I sat, stunned.

Solo raised a hand in objection. “I can think of plenty of hunters who would take a crack at these philosophers if it meant wiping out the fey realm.”

“Which would drive all the fey outta their dells and into human cities, unleashing magic across the planet.” Duo glanced my way. “What do you think, Wufei? Could the clans handle it?”

 ** _ **Ancestors save us.**_** “Not hardly.”

“Which brings us to our primary concern,” Trowa interjected. “Duo is of magic.”

Pulling himself out of his slouch with an inarticulate growl, Solo looked to his brother and then to his brother-in-law and then back again. “What--what does that mean?”

“It means I’m probably the one H wants to wheel and deal with.” Duo smiled -- sharp and sinister -- at the bug-smeared windshield. “And if either of you don’t trust me one-hundred-percent to know what I’m doing, then you’re staying with the truck.”

I reached for Solo’s shoulder and gripped it hard.

“We’re not staying with the truck, dumb-bro. Don’t care what you’ve gotta do to get the job done, either; Wufei and I have got your back.”

Indeed we did. No matter what lay ahead of us upon this road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some very interesting theories on the nature of reality that have influenced my headcanon for the philosophers and the fey realm here:  
> The universe is a hologram. Nothing exists beyond our immediate perception. (So it’s like “out of sight, out of existence.”) Mr. Manny studies theoretical physics and I’m a student of philosophy, so we have discussions about these kinds of things sometimes… usually after a couple of beers.
> 
> As for the allies and opponents among the philosophers, I’m taking my inspiration from a color wheel (i.e. complementary colors are opposite one another) and then I’m reversing it (because I like making the fey world contrary).
> 
> The aspects of the philosophers are hopefully pretty clear?? Doctor J is curiosity, so it’s not too surprising that he’d lost a hand at some point?? Doktor S is pragmatism; he probably lost his nose because it was the only practical solution to being yoked with a nose ring by a master. More details could come to light if they’re relevant to this story.
> 
> I’ve wanted to write a road trip arc for this series ever since the start of the second installment (or possibly before that), so this opening chapter is totally my guilty pleasure.
> 
> Also, I’ve seen quite a few very sketchy-looking highway rest stops in the American Midwest (west of Niagara Falls) and I would not be surprised in the least if there really were entrances to faerie dells nearby.


	2. From Devil’s Tower to Las Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Warnings: mention of past Dub Con/NCS, sexytimes (Duo/Trowa)
> 
> Notes: The sexytimes are NOT an immediate follow-up to the part that deals with NCS. Just so you know. But there’s an unusual (and hopefully adorakable) take on hurt/comfort that might surprise you.
> 
> Music recs  
> The Philosophers: “Astronomical” by Svrcina  
> Devil’s Tower: “In My Blood” featuring Fleurie and produced by Tommee Profitt  
> First Hotel Night: “With You Til The End” featuring Sam Tinnesz and produced by Tommee Profitt  
> Second Hotel Night: “In Your Arms” by Ashley Serena & Ryan Louder / Emotional Vocal Orchestral  
> Morning After & On the Road: “Sleepy Sea of Indigo and Blue” by Antje Duvekot

The philosophers. I’d never been as wholly terrified of those shit-stirring fey -- not even with the gleaming promise of imminent torture lying on the table next to the chair I’d been strapped to in that damned dungeon by Doctor J and Professor G -- than I was after Cathy had wrapped up her lecture. Epic lecture. On why Trowa was still fucked.

But it made sense that Quinze hadn’t been acting alone. **_**The masters.**_** That was how Trowa had always spoken of them. Not one dude in charge of Nith, but plural. **_**Dudes.**_**

“I’m so sorry,” Cathy had breathed, her voice softer than the breeze.

“Don’t think you could’ve helped it,” I’d tried to soothe us all -- my roiling rage, my husband’s frigid shock, Cathy’s abject regret. “Quinze had you on a short leash.”

The quiet of the forest had amplified her heartfelt gaze. The nearest dell entrance was just a stroll around the bend in the dirt track -- I could hear the roaring of the falls filtering through the trees -- but Trowa hadn’t needed to venture any further from the concealed entrance of the underground base or any closer to the dell entrance to know that nothing had changed. That he was still forbidden from setting foot in his own homeland.

“We tried,” she’d said to my husband, “for centuries -- you and I played the game, stayed beyond their reach. But in the end, they divided us, caught us. And they did what they’d intended to do ever since Instructor H had thought it up.” Her pale blue eyes had locked onto me. “They made the Sicarian.”

**_**What they’d always intended.** _ **

Jesus, now that had been a kick in the head. The philosophers had come up with a recipe for making a fey-destroying weapon. But they’d needed a healer. A healer that was malleable and naïve. A healer they could manipulate and control. A healer they could carve up with magical runes -- a set of instructions or some kind of spell -- that would be branded into that healer’s human companion when their declaration was finally performed. And then those runes would go to work, re-polarizing the magic that funnel through the companion. Flavoring it with decay and destruction. And voilà: ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Sicarian.

But the Silencer had been too strong, too wary, and too invested in the fey resistance to bow to the philosophers’ demands. He’d refused to be part of their experiment. Refused to take a companion. He’d stayed beyond their reach for how long? Just… how many millennia were we talking about here? Recollections of the true Silencer -- the fey healer who had existed before my husband -- coalesced in my mind and I remembered the weight of years that I’d seen in his eyes. How many years had he endured alone, on the run, and constantly on guard?

A lot. A whole fucking lot.

But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. Treize, Quatre, Dekim, and Quinze -- the philosophers had used them to capture and control the fey world’s only healer so that they could achieve their goals.

And for what? What good was the Sicarian to a bunch of guys who **_**needed**_** fey -- living, breathing, sentient fey -- in order to maintain their own world? Why would they want their source material obliterated?

I still didn’t understand.

But that wasn’t going to stop me from using it to my advantage.

The visitor parking area was just up ahead. I flipped on the winker and guided the gargantuan truck toward an empty space. Braked to a halt. Turned off the engine.

“Solo,” I said.

“Yeah, bro?”

Goddamn, I really hoped my theory about Solo being undetectable to the Sicarian was right because-- “If I lunge for the worthless fucker, gonna need you to hold me back.”

His hand landed on my shoulder. “You got it.”

I let out a breath and looked over at Trowa. He held out a hand. I grasped it. Then, with a hard squeeze, we let go and pried our respective cab doors open.

Overhead, the clouds were steadily shuffling off toward the east. The wind rattled and rustled brush and boughs. There was a footpath. Picnic tables. A retired couple was having lunch at one as they looked through a guidebook. A pair of love birds were holding hands on their way to a clearly marked trail head. A photographer was unpacking up an impressive array of equipment, maybe hoping to get a good shot of the sunset. A family of five loitered at the nearest scenic overlook point, kids wending and swinging through the rails of the very sturdy fence. And there, right smack dab in the center, hogging the best seat in the house, was a stocky man with an easel, canvas, and palette.

Trowa and I both stiffened at the sight of him, but if he was aware of our presence, he didn’t let on. He just kept on painting, glancing only occasionally at his work, totally focused on the monolith in the distance.

Devil’s Tower.

It seemed like a fitting place for a scheming shit like him to enjoy an afternoon. That was why I’d chosen it for our negotiations.

You know, I really hadn’t been exaggerating when I’d asked Solo to keep and eye on me, because as soon as I focused on that meddling fey bastard, my vision was swimming with rage. This fucking waste-of-space philosopher. What I wouldn’t give to make him **_**burn.**_**

With G and J, it hadn’t been personal. Not at first. In fact, I was still trying really hard not to openly question Master O and Doktor S about the role they’d played in stripping the Silencer of his identity and giving him a new name. But **_**this**_** asshole had allowed **_**my husband**_** to be brutalized and mutilated, carving up Trowa’s skin, and to top it all off, he’d done nothing but sit back and wait, for twelve fucking years, as my consort had endured unrelenting agony. Banished and alone.

Sure, the reason I’d given Solo for waiting until the last possible mile to read him in on our little detour here was a good one, but it wasn’t the biggest one. I hadn’t mentioned it earlier because I hadn’t wanted to give my rage more time to build into an uncontrollable inferno.

Trowa wasn’t the only one with instincts that were difficult to wrangle.

We approached. I let Trowa take point. I honestly didn’t trust myself to be within ten feet of good ol’ Instructor H.

“It promises to be a spectacular sunset,” the man chirped, sensing our proximity. His slick, handlebar moustache twitched with a grin. I wondered if the other three members of his barbershop quartet knew where their short-and-squatty had wandered off to.

He chuckled. As if one of us had openly doubted him. As if we were all good buddies. “It was touch-and-go for a time.”

“You know why I am here,” Trowa quietly declared, refusing to play his little game. Openly resisted. And my heart swelled with pride at his unending strength.

“Yes, yes,” the rotund man agreed, squinting at the glacial progress of the paintbrush. “And I’m thrilled you’ve brought along my Sicarian!”

I bristled. Solo’s arm stretched out in front of my chest.

H didn’t even seem to care that he’d offended the fucking Reaper. “Saves me a trip,” he trilled, at last deigning to set aside his brush and palette. Tilting his face up at us, he beamed past Trowa and focused on me. “Spectacular. And yet…” His eyes narrowed. “There is something unexpected here.” He stood. “Open your mouth, child. Say, ‘ah.’”

I locked my jaw shut and imagined blood pulsing from the stump of his neck.

“My companion,” Trowa interjected, “may be more amenable to your request if you lift my banishment.”

“Hm,” Instructor H purred, still ignoring everyone except for me. “You were created with the utmost care and attention to detail.”

I did not want to hear this.

But he seemed really fucking excited to tell me all about it: “Did you know that Zechs played an instrumental -- if enthusiastic -- role? Why, what if your dear Trowa had chosen the first hunter or farmer to wander into those woods at Caerlaverock? No, no, no.” He shook his head, shooed the very thought away with an effeminate wave of his hand. “He had to be made to hesitate, you see. We wanted him to cross paths with a Maxwell boy -- either one of you would have sufficed.”

Panting breaths. My own. As flames licked and sparked around every word this piece of shit belched out.

“A simple directive would have accomplished your ends,” Trowa retorted tightly, fingers curled and fey claws shimmering in the rosy light of imminent dusk.

“No, I’m afraid not. Human children can sense artifice. It had to be of your own will -- joinings between a fey and human child are so often delightfully innocent. You can see why such an arrangement would be appealing to a fey who’d, ah, serviced an inventive guardian like Zechs. My, but he was quite thorough, wasn’t he? I’d never seen the like--”

**_**Son of a--!** _ **

An inarticulate snarl. Bloodthirsty. Feral. Rage.

Tearing cloth and a wooden clatter.

Birds startled from nearby brush. The family of five froze. The children blinked owlishly. Their parents jumped into action and hustled them toward their dusty minivan.

Hands gripped both my arms.

And. Trowa’s hand. Splayed upon my chest. Just a touch. Soft contact. That was what woke me to the reality of my own torrential fury as it gushed out of me.

Hell hath no fire and brimstone like the God forsaken Sicarian.

I sucked in a deep breath, scrabbled for calm. I couldn’t obliterate this--this--this **_**thing.**_** Complete annihilation was too good for the likes of him.

Even though it would make me feel really fucking accomplished.

Instructor H’s smile widened into a toothy grin. “Yes, yes! That’s what I thought -- you are above and beyond what I’d anticipated. How is that?” he mused. As if I’d actually answer him.

But I had to. I had to get my shit together and get this shit done. Or the next time I ended up on the wrong side of a dell entrance, Trowa was going to lose it. Maybe for good.

I’d promised never to do that to him again. Where I go, he goes. The end.

Somehow, I stopped straining against my brother’s grip on my right arm and Chang’s hold on my left. I let myself lean a bit into Trowa’s touch and it helped. Just enough. Words came to me and I remembered how to speak them: “Fair trade. Trowa gave me healing; I gave him friendship.”

Instructor H’s thin brows lurched up toward his over-gelled hairline. “Ah. I see. You were of magic prior to consummating your bond.” His chin jerked and spine straightened as something occurred to him which brought the slimebag up short. Sliding his gaze in Trowa’s direction, he dared to scold: “You suffered needlessly.”

“I have done everything you set out to affect,” my consort pointed out, his tone vibrating with molten anger. “Willingly or not, I have performed each task. I demand a pardon in exchange.”

H was foolishly unimpressed. “You did not bring the Maxwell boy under the dell. The punishment for that defiance was not unreasonable.”

“How about this, you scum sucking maggot,” I barked and, yup, two pairs of hands were holding onto me again. “I eliminated Treize. The one master your pet Quatre Winner couldn’t touch. For that favor, I demand payment -- which I will now name -- for services rendered.”

He giggled. The fucking wacko giggled. “So be it, my Reaper. What would you have of me?”

But he already knew what I was going to request. It was no secret. Just a mere formality. “Rescind my consort’s banishment from fey lands and permit him to travel as he likes into, out of, and between the dells.”

H blinked at me, smug and certain. Then he shrugged. “If you insist.” He closed his eyes, lifted a hand and pressed his palm to Trowa’s forehead.

I held my breath. Trowa swallowed.

And then--

My husband’s entire body jerked like he’d been goosed with a cattle prod. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end as magic washed over him in a hot tide that pulled feral aggression from his pores. Now it was my hand on his chest, grounding him, and--

I gasped at the sudden heat emanating through the weave of his turtleneck. It was like a furnace door had swung open and his heart was roaring with the flames of a thousand suns.

“Trowa formerly of the Nithlyn Dell, you are a fey with obligations to no master. My debt to your companion is paid.” H angled his face my way on a smile that was probably supposed to be cute. “Would that our first meeting had been friendlier, my dear Shinigami.”

“Given how you’ve used my consort in the past, that has no chance of happening. Today or any other day. Just like you’ve got no chance of me agreeing to be your anything. Ever.”

“Rash promises,” he tutted.

“It’s part of my charm,” I whispered, jutting my chin, curling my lip, biting the air.

With a hum, he stepped back and sighed down at the tumbled mess of his latest artwork and trusty easel. “A pity. I’d rather liked how this one was turning out.”

“Where were you going to hang it? Caerlaverock?”

The jibe won me a wholehearted smile. “You recognized my work!”

And it was just as well that the initial blast of the Sicarian -- a single, swift swipe from my arm before Solo had thrown himself onto the appendage -- had slashed and smashed the thing to smithereens. I’d glimpsed the hint of fey runes emerging from the lines of rock upon Devil’s Tower. For all I knew, he’d been in the process of planning his next fun, little project. Maybe the launch point of the zombie apocalypse.

But. I wondered.

Why had he wanted to create the Sicarian in the first place?

When he’d painted the portrait of my grandfather, Angus Maxwell, had he known his subject had been one of the fey Fates?

How was I different from what H had expected? Tro had let me hold onto that kernel of healing magic for twelve years -- what did that mean in terms of the Sicarian’s abilities?

What side was this greasy shit on? And how was he planning to use me and my consort in the future?

Too many questions.

I could ask.

So that he could lie to my face. Screw with my head. Force Tro to relive the worst moments in his life some more.

No. Once was enough. We’d pass on the sloppy seconds. We’d gotten what we’d come here for, what we’d needed. We’d be pressing our luck if we pressed for more than that.

I stepped back, tugging Trowa with me.

There were no goodbyes. No expressions of gratitude.

No death threats, either, and considering how flaming pissed off I was, that was pretty fucking surprising.

As Solo yanked open the driver’s side door of the moving van, the two lovebirds emerged from their stroll along the trail. A pair of pale blue eyes glanced my way. I nodded once. The man at her side had a scarily accurate resemblance to a popular movie star, but his focus was aimed at Trowa who also dismissed the offer of backup with a nod.

Hilde and Cathy had come through for us. Mission: complete. Time to hit the road again.

I didn’t complain about Solo’s insistence that I take a timeout in the backseat. I just climbed the hell in and held out my hand to Trowa. His grip was tight. And warm. Hot like an open fire. This was going to take some getting used to.

We swung into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn just off the highway. Our rooms made us neighbors for the night, but I didn’t bitch about it. I ushered Trowa over the threshold and locked the door behind us.

“Duo?” he breathed, soft and scared.

I answered on a rasping whisper, “Yeah, babe?”

“Can I… can I…?”

I herded him into my arms, rocked us back and forth. “Whatever you need, baby.” My answer hadn’t changed since that day in the forest beyond Caerlaverock and it wasn’t about to change now.

He sniffled and then… shrank. I blinked as my arms curled tighter, forming a smaller and smaller embrace as my husband aged down until I had a six-year-old boy with his slender arms wrapped around my waist. He was swimming in his clothes: the soft, gray turtleneck came down to his scarred knees and over his knuckles; the chinos crinkled around his shins in a pile. When he pulled his feet out of his shoes, each floppy sock was scrunched around his skinny ankles, held there by a thread of expectation and static cling. But the silk underpants stayed on. Somehow. My poor baby was half naked, but he was holding on so tight. So I didn’t worry about the clothes. Didn’t fuss or scold. All I did was lower myself to my knees and reaffirm our embrace.

“I’ve got you,” I crooned against his velvety soft ear. “I’ve got you an’ I’m never letting go.”

“Never?” he checked, his reedy voice warbling with feeling.

I scooped him up and moved to the closest bed, my heart breaking at how readily he wrapped his legs around me. How hard he was clinging. “Never,” I promised. “I’ll never ever let go. You’re safe now.” I pressed a kiss to his crown when he tucked his face down against my chest. “I love you. I’ve got you. Forever, baby.”

Rocking him gently, I hummed snippets from old songs. Children’s tunes that had made me feel better as I’d shivered in one flimsy hospital gown after another. And once I was warmed up, I sang my favorite:

“The other day, I saw a bear… out in the woods, out way out there…”

I could tell he wasn’t really paying attention to the lyrics until we got to the good stuff:

“And so I ran… away from there, but right behind… me came that bear…”

His skinny arms tightened around my neck and his little fingers twisted into my shirt, but he didn’t tell me to stop, which was awesome because the best part was coming up:

“Now up ahead… of me I see… a big ol’ tree, oh glory be!”

He pressed his smile into my neck, relieved that a happy ending was in sight. Just in time for the plot twist:

“The lowest branch… was ten feet up, I knew that I… would have to jump…”

I was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing.

“And so I jumped… into the air, but I missed that branch… up way up there…”

Trowa gasped and reared back, his tiny face drawn. Dreading that we were both about to become imaginary bear chow.

I kissed him in the center of his forehead, right on the faint wrinkle between his brows.

“Now don’t you fret… and don’t you frown…” I smiled, wiggled my eyebrows. “’Cause I caught that branch… on my way back down!”

He giggled, bit his lip, and then giggled some more when he figured out how much nicer it was to just let all the bad stuff go. I rubbed his back and the soothing, rocking motion gained a playful rhythm as I jazzed it up, nudging his smile wider.

“That’s all there is,” I crooned, “there ain’t no more… unless I see… that bear once more!” And I wasn’t afraid of the furry fucker, either. To prove it, I showed off my teeth and grrrr’ed for Trowa. “Now you, baby. Show me how you’d scare that bear away.”

He bared his fey sharpened teeth and growled out a rumble that started somewhere in his narrow chest. Jesus, he was pint-sized, but he still gave me goose bumps.

“Did I scare you, Duo?”

“You’re very scary when you wanna be,” I assured him, bussing his arms and back. “But I’ve got some bad news for you, wild thing -- you’re never gonna scare me away.”

He relaxed, trusting me with all of his weight. His fingers curled into my braid. “Sing it again.”

“You gonna sing it with me this time?”

“Uh huh.”

So we sang. And added some pantomiming. And when we got to the end, I tickled his ribs until he collapsed on his back and squealed, his over-socked feet pedaling helplessly in the air. I spared a thought for our neighbors but fuck it. Solo and Wufei could just deal.

When Trowa gasped for me to stop -- cried “uncle!” like a pro -- I flopped down next to him and blurted, “Knock knock.”

“Huh?”

“Now you’re supposed to say, ‘Who’s there?’”

“Who’s there?” he repeated eagerly and -- Jesus fried a chicken -- I wished he’d been able to be a kid. A really for real kid. All silly and giggly and just like this.

Blinking back the heat burning my eyes, I told him, “Iguana.”

He stared at me with wide green eyes and waited for the next step.

I cupped a hand over my mouth and whispered his way, “Now you say ‘Iguana who?’”

“Iguana who?” he whispered back, waiting for it.

I punch-lined: “Iguana give you a biiiig hug!”

Which I did. Mauling him a bit on the bouncy bed and making him holler with laughter.

When we calmed down a bit, I tried again: “Knock-knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Hatch.”

“Hatch who?”

“Gesundheit!”

That earned me another round of delighted giggles.

Another half dozen knock-knock jokes later and he was slumped against me, wrung out and sighing and still a sneeze away from getting lost somewhere inside that huge turtleneck.

“Last one. Ready?”

He nodded, leaning up and hovering over me. “Ready.”

“You sure? Really sure?” I prompted just so he’d nod harder. “Really super duper one-hundred percent sure?”

“Yes! Duuuooo!”

What a great whine. He had the six-year-old show down pat. “Knock-knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Champ.”

“Champ who?”

I reached up and ruffled his hair. “Yeah, let’s wash this mop!” When he snorted, I checked, “You ready for bath time, superstar?”

He was. I grabbed him up before he could bounce off of the mattress, and I plunked him over my shoulder. “Duuuooo!” he bellowed through a big ass grin as I king-kong’ed us into the bathroom. I filled the tub. Washed his hair.

“Close your eyes -- time to rinse,” I warned gently.

“Duo?”

“Hmm?”

“Who taught you how to do this?”

I had to pause. Swallow. Forced a smile until those somber green eyes stared me down and my lips softened into a wry grin. “My mom and dad.”

“You’re good at taking care of me.”

Oh, God. I was not gonna cry. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

I leaned over and gave him a gentle peck on his damp temple. “Whatever you need, Tro.”

His arms wound around me for the bazillionth time tonight, soaking my shirt, but I didn’t care.

“You’re perfect,” I told him. And hell yes I believed it. How could I not? I didn’t even protest when he insisted on washing my hair for me. Then, we took turns aiming the blow dryer at each other. It was going on midnight by the time we got back to the bed. His little body was snuggled up in a couple of dry towels and I was in my PJs and he tackled me to the mattress so he could braid my hair.

I conked out at some point. Roused briefly to the click of lights turning off and sudden darkness. A warm, trusting body wiggling into my arms. I wrapped him up, curling around him on a happy hum. “Love you. So much, baby.”

Small hands clutched my forearms. “I’ll never not love you, my chosen.”

And then I dreamed. I dreamed of summertime butterfly hunts and frog safaris. I dreamed of laughter and golden light. A warm breeze kissing my cheek.

“Hmm, Duo…”

I garbled something in response, caring more about the gorgeously inviting, solid body crowding mine between the sheets.

“Open your eyes.”

“Urg. Do I gotta?”

Lips pressed to my jaw. “Uh huh.”

I sighed and obeyed. Opened my eyes and, damn it, how could I not smile at my fey husband’s hopelessly adorable bedhead? “Hey,” I greeted, trailing my fingers over his bare shoulders. “Missed you.”

“I was right here all night,” he reminded me.

“Yeah, and as awesome as it was to hang out with the little-you, it just wouldn’t have been cool to do this--” I sat up, rubbing my hands down his back and nuzzling his neck. God, he was hot. Feverishly hot. And he smelled so good. Tasted pretty great, too.

He shivered as I sucked on his eighteen-year-old earlobe.

I moaned as his palms seared twin paths under my T-shirt. Trowa’s capable hands nudged and coaxed my limbs to cooperate until I was bare and he was sliding into my embrace, so much skin. Soft and gentle and unending.

As he placed butterfly kisses on my shoulder and I doodled along his spine, he murmured, “I once marveled at your generosity. Whatever I wanted -- however I wanted you -- you gave that to me. You waited whenever I asked you to.”

I caressed his arm, urging him to include me on the journey his thoughts were taking.

He continued, “Because you wanted me to be happy. Because you wanted me to know that you love me. Even before what you did for me last night, I knew.”

Tears tipped over his lashes and I brushed them away before they could cool.

“Last night--” he began. Stopped. Visibly floundered for words.

Framing his face in my hands, I tugged him close, tucked his face down, and pressed a kiss to the center of his forehead. “Hey, last night was…” I sucked in a steadying breath, but found no words to describe it, either. Just, drew a total blank, but I knew what he meant. How could I not? “Last night was for me, too,” I finally said. “You don’t have to say anything else, baby. I know. I know.”

His hands tightened on me. His back lifted as he drew a deep, shuddering breath. I gathered him close as more tears silently splattered on my skin. Just over my heart. I held on a let him cry it out, hell I cried with him, silent tears sliding from the corners of my eyes and painting slick, cooling trails into my scalp.

As much as I hated all the suffering Trowa had been forced to endure just for us to make it to this moment, I couldn’t wish we’d never met. Couldn’t find it in me to wish he’d never seen a joined couple in the dell. Never wanted to find a companion for himself.

All the pain. I couldn’t say that here and now made it all worth it. It didn’t. Not even close. But it tightened our hold on one another. It ignited the blood in our veins, strengthened our embrace. His heart and mine, they might not share the same color blood, but we shared a viciously stubborn sense of purpose. Our souls were inseparable. Not in spite of the agony, but because of it.

A knock came at the door while we were both still naked, tangled in the sheets, and sniffling drowsily. But you wanna know something incredible? In a way, this was even better than making love. Which was why I was loathe to check the peephole and let the rest of the world into our space. Didn’t have much choice, though. Tomorrow was here and it was definitely another day.

I kissed Trowa and shoved my legs into my boxers, which had slid overboard at some point, and then answered our wake up call.

Solo was all dressed up and ready to hit the road. Even Wufei looked all put together. Shiny ponytail and all.

“Hey, we don’t got all--” My brother broke off and took a good, long look at me. “You two OK?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. And when Trowa crowded against my back and his warmth washed over me in counterpoint to the tingle of clashing magic, I felt my lips lift into a genuine smile. “Never better.”

Solo nodded, glancing from me to Trowa. “Last call for breakfast from Mickey D’s.”

“Eh, we’re not gonna make it,” I flatly assessed. “If you’re goin’, I’ll take my usual. Tro?”

“Two apple pies. Salad if they have it. Mustard, not dressing.”

“Copy that.”

Sometimes, Solo really did corner the Big Brother market.

I was smiling as I closed the door and flipped the lock. Trowa slow-glomped me and purred against my ear: “Turn that smile my way.”

And, then, when I did, he tilted his brow against mine, massaged the back of my neck with a squeeze from his so-warm hand, and murmured, “I want to make love to you tonight.”

Whoa, hello. My pulse was suddenly cruising at thirty thousand feet. “Tonight? What’s wrong with right now?” I figured we had twenty minutes before the cockblockers delivered breakfast.

A low chuckle vibrated in Trowas throat. “Not enough time.” A chaste kiss and a hot look. “Not nearly enough time.”

Oh, shit hell yeah.

“You’re evil,” I accused. “Telling me this now and making me wait all damn day.” I shifted, rubbing my very interested arousal against him. The hitch in his breathing told me he’d noticed. He’d hella noticed.

Chin low, he looked up at me through his brows. “I think you’ll enjoy it more this evening, but I’ve no objections to now. If that’s what you really want.”

Oh, Jesus. “Trowa,” I breathed, awed at the concession. Intimacy had always happened on his terms; I hadn’t minded -- not once, not ever -- that he was the one who decided the when and where and how. But this right here and now -- this one small offer -- he’d change it up if I needed him to. Just… it wouldn’t have been a big deal to just about anyone else on the planet. To most people, this kind of thing was the Relationship 101 introductory lesson. But it was a huge deal to us. Enormous.

I beamed. “No, it’s cool. I’ll wait.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“Always has been. Always will be.”

An abbreviated, needy groan. Sharp teeth nipped my lower lip. Burning-hot hands slid away and he stepped back. We spent the next twenty minutes packing up and washing up.

When a sassy ditty was rapped out on the door, we were ready to groove.

Breakfast in the backseat. Files and miles and lunch at Denny’s. Highland pines, rolling plains, and scrub desert. Trowa’s foot bumping mine in a teasing reminder of the distance between us that was gonna be non-existent real soon.

Another hotel. Key in lock. Deadbolt. Just me and him.

He led me to the bathroom first for a shower and shampoo. Rubbed his hot, sudsy skin over my body, swapping soap bubbles. I was curious and interested -- so interested -- in where we were headed tonight, but I didn’t ask. No wheedling. No hesitation.

“You’re mine,” I marveled, leaning my head back against his shoulder as he finished rinsing the conditioner from my hair. Herbal blend. The brand he liked. Whenever we showered together like this, his shampoo ended up in my hair. I suspected occasions like this was why he’d bought the accompanying conditioner -- his fine, short hair sure as hell didn’t need it.

My arms went up to wrap around him. His arms spanned my belly. “I’m yours,” he promised with a slow, sucking kiss to my neck.

Towels. Blow dryer. Braiding. And then his hands wandered from the hairband he’d just wound in place and spanned my waist, branding my skin with heat. He paused, a solid inferno crouching above the backs of my thighs. Poised in silence.

“Whatever you want, baby,” I capitulated and then I let him give it to me.

Kisses along my spine. Goose bumps flashed and prickled as I remembered just what the spine meant to Trowa: it was where muscle memory was said to be stored in fey. Yes, I knew he needed me to be strong, to keep fighting. For him, of course. For myself, definitely. For both of us, abso-damn-lutely.

A firm massage along my thighs. When he pressed my legs apart, I rolled my hips, arched my back, invited him in.

The brush of bangs at the small of my tailbone. Steaming breath. Soft lips. The calm before the storm.

He was going to destroy me.

My fingers curled into the time-flattened pillow. My biceps bulged and ached. My breath, suspended.

“Trowa,” I whimpered, shifting needily into his touch.

He growled, quiet and confident, and then took possession.

My scream was short and muffled at the sudden, slick heat of his tongue against my ass. It was--holy hell praise Jesus--so good oh my God good--

I couldn’t breathe. Could barely pant. I was moaning nonstop but couldn’t bring myself to give a damn as he kissed me, made sweet gorgeous love to me with his hot mouth. Tucked his hands under my hips and nudged me up with dizzying strength. I couldn’t get my knees under me -- not enough space -- but my cock was brushing against the weave of the sheet and please please please!

“Need you,” I gasped, barely aware of what I was saying. “Baby, I need you.”

He shivered so hard I felt it. Felt the crackle of magic as it crested over him. His nails sharpened and oh fuck-- ** _ **this is it.**_** He was gonna take me so fucking hard oh fuck yes now now now--

But then that sharp, feral energy fizzled away. Evaporated. His fingers were blunt-tipped again and his groan was aching, vibrating in a register than dipped below the range of human hearing: “Duo…”

A pillow beneath my hips, his slick fingers massaging me open. I bore down, beckoned him inside. “Yes, oh my God, Tro. Baby. So good. So good.”

And when his hard length finally slid in, it got even better. So much better that I forgot how to speak altogether.

“Duo?” he prompted, arched over me and deep inside me and his lips brushed over my shoulders as my brain short-circuited. “What are you feeling?”

He didn’t sound worried, exactly, but I could tell he wouldn’t be moving until I gave him some feedback. I sighed out a joyous laugh and, somehow, managed to get my thighs to part a few more millimeters. “Bliss,” I told him, voice strained with pleasure. “All bliss, baby.”

He whined. His lips parted over my shoulder, teeth pressed against my skin. Human teeth and, if he lost control for even an instant, they’d sharpen and puncture flesh. But they didn’t. With every slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he just held me to him. Rubbed his skin over mine and massaged me deep and gentle.

“Duo,” he purred, now nuzzling my bare skin like he was marking territory, and I gasped because, oh my God, he wasn’t denying his feral nature. He wasn’t clinging to his control. He wasn’t in control at all. He was immersed in us, in this. He was in over his head and hell yeah was I in over mine. I was the sum total of my heart. Beating with his. Pumping blood and life force. Steady. Rhythmic. Unhurried.

If he could have unfolded his chest and tucked me up inside, yeah, that was what this felt like. Care. Oh, God. Trowa was taking care of me. Taking care with me. He was giving me everything I’d tried to show him ever since we’d made it out of the woods together.

I sighed his name in approval and pride and, damn but I was so proud of him. Tears rushed to my eyes and then fell in a hot tide when he changed it up, drew back with exquisite care, paused, coated himself with more lubricant, and then sank back in.

The cool slick seared up my spine like a plume of flame from a rocket engine. “Ah-hah-God, Tro--Trowa!” I whined, straining into his renewed thrusts.

Pure sensation. All heart. So beautiful.

His soft moans and sharp gasps. When I dared to clench down on him, he growled. His hand went to my hip and he paused, rode the sensation out, and then started up again with those delicious, mind-wrecking, measured thrusts.

“I want to make love to you,” he’d said, and he was. He totally was. This wasn’t about bodies and lust and instinct. This wasn’t a hot fuck for fun, hormones burning away and exuberant joy unleashed. This wasn’t even a sleepy roll of hips meant to push back the coming day. This was--oh please yes just right there!--this was how I’d taught him to love me.

“Oh, God. I feel it, baby.”

“Hmm?”

Oh, Jesus. He sounded beyond senseless and the heat of him was inescapable; he was drowning in our love. Sinking down and down and so wrapped around and inside me that I was being pulled under with him. Such gorgeous-gorgeous-deep-and-gorgeous-- “You love me. So good. Perfect. You’re prefect.”

He rumbled. Something hot and wild and wordless as his teeth once again pinned me beneath him. I grabbed for his hands, but they were too deeply pushed into the mattress for me to interlace our fingers, so I gripped his forearms. Leverage, yes. Started giving back to him the way he was giving himself to me.

I didn’t wanna stop. Never ever wanted to stop, but the build -- it was inevitable. I hissed as the heat and weight of my cock slid into a persistent sting and then a deep, bruising throb.

“Trowa,” I begged. “I gotta--please, baby.”

He released my shoulder, nuzzled his way down my sweaty back and slid out -- God, he was still so hard -- and then he rolled me over. Surged between my thighs, descending with single-minded focus, and his mouth was on me, engulfing me completely and I couldn’t wait anymore.

“Trowa!” I gasped, grabbed for his shoulders, tethered myself against the oncoming storm and when it hit--

Blasted--

Sightless sensation.

Explosions beneath my skin.

Shattered. I was shattered open.

Panting and boneless and then Trowa was leaning in and over me, sheathing himself in my body.

I moaned, too delirious to voice an encouragement, but I arched my neck, tilted my hips to take in more of him and it was enough.

He rocked into me, held me snug and tight, rolling his hips just a little faster. Faster.

Too sensitive. I burned. My ass, my cock, my balls, my nipples and scalp and fucking toes--!

Oh, God. I couldn’t take much more of this, but he wasn’t about to let me go.

And then it started building again, that slick, warm tension sparked and crinkled under my skin and I keened, throat dry and voice gone.

He commanded that I feel him, that I feel every bit of him and he was taking me now. Thrusting so so so good-possessive-mine-mine-mine!

And if I’d been shattered before, then this was what obliteration felt like. My molecules spinning and careening apart, turning into photons and shooting stars of light and speed.

“Duo!” he rasped as he came-came-came, came, came… and finally, came.

Oh. My. Jesus. Chicken.

He slumped down against me, his elbows digging into the mattress and keeping some of his shuddering weight from squashing the air from my lungs. I clawed my way up to the center of his back and the back of his head. Traced the shivers twitching through his flesh and combed my fingers through his hair.

“Tro, you--me--that--” I had to stop and figure out how speech worked. “You’re incredible and so good to me.” My fingers curled, nails scraping his scalp as I gripped and firmly tugged at his hair. “My consort.”

He shifted, prying his knees beneath my thighs and burrowing his nose toward my neck through my frazzled braid. With my last ounce of strength, I hooked my feet together at the small of his back and he made a desperate sound. He was still inside me, satisfied but so warm. Bracing me open and I would be. Open and vulnerable. But only for him.

He licked the line of my throbbing pulse as my heartbeats finally stopped booming against my ribs, and I suddenly thought of that moment in the London Clan HQ. Blissed out and drifting. Trowa had asked me, “How do I know whether I love you?”

This. This was how.

This was all of that: both loving and knowing. Feeling and giving. Existing and breathing for the sake of one more moment together.

I reached for his hand, interlaced our fingers, and--

And the next thing I knew, I was squinting balefully at a beam of sunlight that was stabbing me right in the eyeball. My right one. Trowa was wrapped around me, spooned up, and I was sweating from how hot his skin was.

Damn. This whole being un-banished thing was gonna take some getting used to.

But the throb of my empty ass and overstretched thighs -- I hoped I never got used to any of that. Hoped I’d always feel it deep down every time. And there would be more times. Lots more, I was sure. Now that Trowa wasn’t afraid of hurting me, or of wanting to hurt me. He’d faced that fear down last night. Kicked its sniveling ass from the room so hard it was probably never gonna figure out how to crawl outta the ditch on the other side of the fucking highway. And if it ever did, a passing motorist would mow it down.

I grinned, recalling my consort’s devotion and worship. Not once had he even veered toward handling me roughly. Hell, the bed hadn’t even butted against the wall. A quiet night for Solo and Wufei. Heh.

Over my belly, Trowa’s hand shifted and I rolled over -- slowly because owwww -- and grinned as his lashes lifted and he filled his lungs with the scent of us. Seeing my silent greeting, he hummed and smiled. All dopey and drowsy and fucking adorable.

Oh, yeah. I was all for starting the day like this. Just like this.

The whole rushing to get dressed and diving into the increasingly detestable cab of the moving van was an option I wanted to opt out of. As soon as possible.

“Hey, you two OK?” Solo asked me as we did the supermarket thing. Around noon, we’d spotted a mega-mart just off the highway and no sooner had Trowa sucked in an eager breath than I’d blurted, “Real food, ahoy. Change of heading, captain!”

So here we were, plastic basket handles bowing from the weight of fresh cut fruit and ready-made salads, hanging back while Trowa placed an order at the butcher’s counter. Wufei was hunting up some microwaveable rice and whatever. It sounded heavy, so it sure as hell wasn’t gonna end up in my shopping basket, which was on the verge of snapping.

My brother huffed. “I can’t believe I’m encouraging this, but--” He lowered his voice even further. “Haven’t heard any headboard tunes from you guys’ room in the last three nights. Everything OK?”

I wasn’t sure what shocked me more: verbal confirmation that Solo had finally accepted the sexual component of mine and Trowa’s joining or the fact that he’d been keeping track.

“Uh, yeah,” I coughed. “I mean, after we got the call from Hilde about the meet…” I hesitated, unsure how to phrase it tactfully. But then I realized what an idiot I was being. There was no **_**nice**_** way to talk about what Trowa had been through at the behest of Quinze and H. “We both knew that meeting was going to stir up a lot of bad shit.” And neither one of us had been in the mood for anything beyond an angrily-tight, fully-clothed embrace. “And then the night after…”

Solo squinted. “Did I hear a little kid laughing in your room?”

Wow. How to word this so that it didn’t come out sounding really morally reprehensible? “Tro’s never had a childhood,” I heard myself murmur. “Never been a kid. It was a safe place to be after that… um, after.”

Solo shook his head, brows arched with marveling disbelief. “Damn. That’s…” When words failed him, he bopped my shoulder and let his fist rest there for a full second. “Don’t envy you the baggage he’s got.”

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d never been put through all that.” But he had been. And there was no changing the past. “So he’s got issues. I don’t blame him for it and he lets me help him.” I shrugged. “Can’t ask for more than that.”

“Guess not.” He hesitated and then ferreted for the rest of it: “So last night was…?”

For the sake of his sanity, I dumbed it down to: “Us getting warmed up.” I smirked.

He shut up. Pivoted around and watched Trowa’s order being wrapped up like it was the most fascinating process he’d ever seen. “Cool. So long as you guys are cool, it’s cool.”

Wufei emerged from the adjacent aisle with a couple boxes of tea tumbled on top of whatever was in his shopping basket. It occurred to me that we probably should have gotten a cart instead of trying to tough it out like a bunch of over-testosteroned idiots.

Oh, well. Next time.

As I ordered some sliced cheese and cold cuts from the deli counter, Solo sauntered over to the bakery section just this side of shouting range. There was a girl his age working, smiling, giggling as he propped a hand on the service counter, leaned in and grinned.

I sighed. And here I’d thought he’d already figured out that he wasn’t gonna find Wufei somewhere in girl number three hundred and seventy four.

Wufei’s gaze tracked the byplay from where he hovered beside Trowa, but he didn’t even look perturbed. I accepted the sandwich makings from the deli staff just as Solo scooped up the loaf of bread he’d ordered sliced and a piece of paper that the girl had scribbled on.

Ten bucks said it was her phone number.

But I tucked the wisecrack away. Neither Trowa nor Wufei would find it funny: Trowa wouldn’t appreciate the reminder of his inability to read other humans’ interest in him and Wufei wouldn’t laugh for obvious reasons. If anyone got a kick out of it, it’d be Solo. And it’d be a literal kick: as in, Wufei’s foot to his stupid ass.

Shoulders thrown back and chest puffed up, my brother strolled over, flicking the paper noisily. “Found us a place for lunch!” He handed what looked like a map to Wufei and I was so impressed that I wordlessly let him herd us all toward the checkout.

A place for lunch, yeah, after a short drive, that was what we found all right: a recreational park with covered picnic tables. We slapped some sandwiches together. Trowa opened a large container of salad, added in a raw egg, some wasabi, and the raw beef he’d requested from the butcher’s counter. We ate with our fingers. The toes of Trowa’s shoes bumped against mine.

“How far are we?” Solo asked around his fourth bite of swiss and pastrami.

Trowa slurped down an eggy tomato slice. “Not far. We’ll make contact mid afternoon.”

That reminded me to check the burner phone that Hilde had been using to keep us updated on her movements. “A warm welcome awaits,” I contributed, scanning the brief blurb of text-speak and small army of smiley faces. “Enjoy the sunshine.” If the Las Vegas base was anything like Niagara’s, we wouldn’t be getting much Vitamin D there.

Solo caught Trowa’s eye. “This place gonna be like the one at Niagara? An underground military base or some shit?”

Trowa smirked. “No.”

“Well, where is it?”

My husband evaded: “It’s not difficult to find.”

An understatement. We gawped up at the gleaming tower that rose up from the center of the Las Vegas Strip.

“You are shitting me,” Solo breathed. Even Wufei’s jaw was unhinged. I caught sight of the name and snorted.

“Seriously? The Las Vegas base is called ‘Fairyland’?”

Trowa’s smirk stretched into a cocky grin.

I just shook my head.

Pulling up to the on-duty valet, Solo leaned out the window and got directions to the service entrance. We had shit to unload and, yes, we’d take care of it ourselves, thanks very much.

What we really needed, though, was a destination for the shit.

Hilde was waiting for us at the underground loading bay, bouncing on the balls of her feet and grinning so hugely that the sharp edges of her fey teeth were showing.

“Boss! You made it! Hey, there, Duo.” She nodded to Solo and Wufei.

I wanted to tell her good job with tracking down H and hauling his sanctimonious ass to Devil’s Tower, but it wouldn’t be a very auspicious start to our stay here if I rode roughshod over companion-consort etiquette. When Trowa merely grunted, I elbowed him and muttered: “Mission: complete, man.” I nodded toward Hilde, who was clearly entertained by our little aside.

Trowa huffed. Then, he turned to Hilde and stiffly acknowledged, “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”

“No problem, Sy.”

Sy. Short for “the Silencer.” Whoo boy. I could tell already that Hilde was gonna be a bad influence on me.

When Trowa merely gave her an unimpressed look, her smile widened. “Let me show you to your rooms so you can get settled in.” She motioned us toward the service elevator. “Tour at five-thirty. Dinner at seven.”

With a punch to the button for the twentieth floor, she added, “And we got some business for you to take care of, Silencer.”

“It can’t wait?” Solo blurted.

Hilde said, “Some of it’s been waiting for almost thirteen years.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Trowa promised, sliding a hand along the back of my waist.

Noticing this, our guide hummed. “Bring Duo.” To Solo and Wufei, she said, “I’ll see if Cathy’s available to act as your escort -- if you want to be there for the show.”

Solo blinked. “The show?”

“Hmm,” she purred, riding a thrill of anticipation. “The Silencer’s back. And that means court is in session.”


	3. The Silencer’s Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trowa POV
> 
> Warnings: violence, gore, mention of potential NCS (non-graphic, not directed at any canon characters)
> 
> Music recs  
> Fey Trowa 2.0: “New Siberia” by Antje Duvekot  
> Feyside: “Where We Come Alive” by Ruelle  
> Fey Court: “Monsters” featuring Xeah and produced by Tommee Profitt

For years, I’d dreamed of Duo. His scent and warmth. Night after night, I’d struggled toward the memory of him, my entire body aching and frigid. Starving for my companion’s touch. Every dawn, I’d opened my eyes, straining toward the faint promise of his presence only for it to inevitably mist into nothing. Shivering and scraping at the bark of the trees, I’d been helpless to stop his ghost from slipping beyond the forest of Nith where I’d remained. Captive and alone.

But then.

He’d returned. We’d escaped. We were free. Together. Inseparable.

And yet the yearning and terror still woke me most mornings. Fear and lies still lurked in my shadow, whispering that it wasn’t real.

**_**Just a dream.** _ **

An insidious murmur that I’d had to prove wrong by touching Duo, waking him, taking his body into my own. A craving I’d never been able to fully satisfy.

Until the dawn after my exile had been rescinded and, suddenly, everything had changed.

For the first time in more than twelve years, I’d felt myself surrounded by the light of truth before I’d even opened my eyes.

Duo was real. And here beside me. And mine.

Beautiful. Human. Magical.

As a small child tucked into his slumber-slackened embrace, I’d never felt safer or more content. There were different kinds of love, I’d realized on that stiff hotel bed. This one -- this quiet, gentle, unbreakable emotion -- was new. How many were there? Well, we had time. I’d learn them all. Each and every one. All for him. My magical human and husband.

Duo.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” the object of my contemplation teased, sliding his arms around me. The light from the autumn sun was just starting to deepen toward golden, but it would be hours yet until sunset.

My hand dropped from the thick curtain and slid along his bare forearm. He leaned his head between my shoulder blades and waited for me to answer. The answer itself wasn’t difficult to put into words, nor was I attempting to keep it all for myself. I paused because I marveled: on a sunny July day, Duo had married a frightened and clinging teen; a few nights ago, he’d comforted and played with a heartbroken child; and now he embraced a grown fey in his prime. I did not particularly like being the Silencer, but Duo made it easier. So much easier. He made it easy for me to be his husband, his friend, and his protector.

I smiled, tucked my chin to my chest, and closed my eyes. “You,” I answered him. Of course it was him that my thoughts revolved around. Of course. “You’ve woken me.”

His arms tightened in a brief squeeze. “The same goes for me, Tro.”

As much as I thrilled at the idea that I gave Duo as much as he gave me, I had to point out, “But you never asked for this life.”

“Well,” he mused, speaking slowly as his thoughts assembled. So different from fey. “To be fair, I didn’t even know that it was possible.”

“If you had known, would you have welcomed it?” It was a concern that I was sure his older brother still carried. A concern I had grown to share as I’d realized just how much I detested the thought of Duo refusing my suit. If he had been fully informed from the onset, would he have accepted me?

Was I enough?

Duo’s hand slid away and then covered mine. His thumb brushed back and forth and I exhaled slowly as he leaned into me. Into the warmth I could now offer him.

“No,” he finally decided, breaking me open, “I would’ve been fucking terrified.”

Ah, how I’d failed him. I clenched against the ache.

“But you needed me. And I wouldn’t have turned you away. Not when I was six years old or eighteen. Not ever.”

Gasping in a breath, I croaked, “What does that mean?”

I knew what it meant, but I **_**needed**_** to hear him say it.

He did. “It means we’d still be here -- right here -- you and me. The Silencer and the Sicarian. This would have happened anyway.”

The relief. Agonizingly exquisite. “You accept that.” It wasn’t a question.

Duo nodded against my back. “Do you?”

As I exhaled, a surge of emotion, pure and devastating, bathed the inside of my skin. “Yes,” I told him, turning in my husband’s arms and, when his hands rose to my face, I fell into his kiss.

Deep and unhurried. I savored him. Basked in him. I groaned at his surrender and moaned encouragingly at his initiative. Lips and tongue. Hot, wet strokes. Slick skin and rasping friction. Tasting and celebrating. Heat and happiness and home.

When he withdrew, his hands remained against my cheeks and jaw. “That was different,” he said, a puzzled frown scrunching his brows.

I reached up to trace that wrinkle of skin. “You once encouraged me to need you less.”

His brows twitched, hiked upward with surprise. “You don’t need me? Is that what this is?”

“I will always need you,” I warned him. It was the nature of the joining. I could never not need him. “But I no longer have to endure the cold.” Before, there had been only the dark chill of solitude or overwhelming bliss from Duo’s touch.

His mouth began a slow curve into a hopeful smile. “And now?”

“Warmth.”

“Wow,” he breathed, trailing his fingertips through my hair, shifting my bangs aside so that he could smile into both of my eyes. “Yeah. I remember. I remember you like this. Back when we first met.”

Before my banishment, yes, I’d been warmed by magic. I hadn’t fully appreciated its presence, though. Not until it had been ripped away and, as the years had passed, I’d forced myself to stop remembering it. To despise it. I’d embraced the cold. Survived.

That was no longer the case.

“I can be that consort for you again,” I realized, my skin barely containing my delight at the realization.

Duo hummed. “You mean -- save me from the clutches of evil fey masters?”

“That and more,” I readily volunteered.

“I’m not that clueless little boy anymore,” Duo reminded me. One hand slid up my back on top of the Silencer’s jumpsuit and the edges of his blunt nails traced the scars beneath. The ones I’d earned when I’d most recently put myself between Duo and the dell. He continued, “And I’m all for making sure this shit doesn’t happen again.”

He sealed that vow by skating his other hand down to mine and interlocking our fingers.

I leaned in and pressed a kiss to the edge of his jaw. His grip tightened. And then loosened.

“That tour’s gonna kick off soon. Gotta get dressed for it.”

Indeed. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of fey cloth. Only his undershirt and boxers. He’d been in the middle of changing clothes when he’d noticed my vigil at the living room window of our suite.

I turned my back on the panoramic view of the sprawling city and distant mountains and endless sky. I watched as he dressed. Smiled when his balance wobbled and he bit off curses.

When he reached for the hood cloth, I did something I would not have considered doing three days ago: I crossed the living room to the door shared between our suite and the next. Three days ago, I would have kept Duo to myself until the last possible moment, until Duo himself had indicated that it was time to invite others into our space.

I felt Duo’s sidelong gaze upon me as I knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately by Wufei.

“Are your rooms satisfactory?” I inquired.

“Very. Thank you.”

We both knew the arrangement was Hilde’s doing, but I was the Silencer here. The general of the fey resistance and, thus, their host. I appreciated that Wufei was willing to acknowledge that and respect it.

Solo swaggered over to lean on Wufei’s shoulder and grin into our suite. “So, we’re just waitin’ on Duo, ey?” Tilting his chin up, Solo projected his next words in the direction of the open bedroom door: “Hey, Rapunzel. Need a hand?”

“I’ll rap your punzel,” he hollered back, stomping over to the doorway, both arms up as he tucked in and tugged at the fey cloth covering his hair.

Solo waggled his brows. Opened his mouth.

A sharp knock upon the front door saved us all. I nodded for Solo and Wufei to come in and then walked the half dozen steps to answer the summons.

“All settled in?” Hilde asked by way of greeting, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Hm,” I answered wryly. The crates of files were neatly stacked along every wall, from floor to ceiling. We’d had to shift the sofa into the center of the room.

“Excellent! Let’s do this. Ready?”

I glanced at Duo, who pulled a loose portion of cloth over his nose and mouth. He gave me a thumbs up and I replied, “Lead on.”

She did, already rambling before she’d even pressed the button for the roof. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down. Easy peasy facilities first.”

Easy peasy apparently translated to an area accessible to both fey and humans: a swimming pool on the roof with a cabana. Beside that was a stage and dance floor. And then beyond, a lush botanical garden with a butterfly house and meandering footpath.

I frowned at the familiar right-right-left. A tingle pricked at my fingertips and toes. The end of my nose and tops of my ears. I glanced at Duo as he reach up to rub the back of his hand over his nose. He sent me a questioning look and I nodded. I felt it, too. We both checked over our shoulders where Solo and Wufei were shadowing us.

“What?” Solo prompted, scrunching his nose like he was fighting a sneeze. Wufei’s brows lifted in silent inquiry.

“You feel that?” Duo asked his brother.

“What? The pollen up my nose? Hell yeah.”

Duo insistently prodded, “Ears? Fingers? Toes?”

Solo smirked. “Are we making a rhyme?”

“Never mind.” Duo rolled his eyes and then offered me a shrug. If Duo’s theory about the Sicarian were true, it might mean that Solo could sense magic to some extent. But it appeared that he couldn’t. Or he simply wasn’t skilled in differentiating between local magic and an oncoming sneeze.

An issue to be investigated at another time.

Hilde smirked. “That’s your membership card,” she explained, briskly tapping the side of her own nose with a forefinger. And then, with a grand gesture, she added, “After you.”

I went first, letting the teasing tickle guide me along the overgrown path to a rock wall in the center of the garden. Carved into its surface, there was a recessed hole just large enough for a hand to fit in up to the wrist. A fairly straightforward portal entrance. I placed mine within and then--

Behind us, jets of water shot out of the gurgling creek and into the air, concealing our group from view. The ground beneath our feet began to lower. The rock wall shifted, tilted forward, rotated down not unlike the slats of a water mill until all four of us were standing in a dimly lit foyer of roughly hewn stone. Cavernous and concealed from anyone still on the roof above.

“Welcome to Fairyland Feyside,” Hilde enthused, arms thrown wide.

Wufei stepped out from beneath the stone braced overhead. “It doesn’t ascend?”

“It has three identical sides,” she obligingly explained. “You might want to step away there, Solo, or you’ll cause a traffic jam topside.”

The moment he minced out of the way, the rock began to shift again, rolling onward in silence.

I moved close to Duo, uncertain who this newcomer would be. A fey, certainly, and presumably an ally, but still.

It was Cathy.

“You started without me,” she accused Hilde.

“Hey, we’re not anywhere near your department.”

She ignored the protest and greeted me, Duo, Solo, and Wufei in turn. She then laid a hand on my arm and smiled, checking for herself that our mission had been a success. “You’re with us.”

I nodded.

And then, as the rock began to shift again, Hilde gestured everyone to follow. I kept a hand on Duo’s back as we moved from the twisting caverns toward a circular stairwell. The skylight on the roof above illuminated the steps that spiraled down, down, down into darkness. We descended to the level below where we’d arrived.

“Eatery,” Hilde indicated, ducking into the doorway. I swept my gaze over the cavernous space, admiring the stone walls and floor. The crystal ceiling that glowed overhead. Lounges and perches scattered beneath. Fire pits paired with standing butcher blocks, upon which an assortment of knives had been carefully arranged. Just like Nithlyn.

My chest throbbed with this reminder of home lost.

Another level down, we came upon the gymnasium. “Looks like a BMX course and a rock climbing wall are playing rock-paper-scissors,” Solo observed, head titled and eyes squinting. “Where would you even start?”

How quaint. I said, “Anywhere you want.” I pointed up to a handle above our heads. Hilde obligingly leaped up and grasped it, pulled herself upside down so that she was crouched on the ceiling. She then extended her leg and hooked her toes into another hold, worked her way across to the nearest metal pole, which she wrapped her arms around. Spun herself swiftly down to a slope. Released her grip and rolled down… and then up to the ledge on opposite side. Posed with a flourish and toe point.

“Easy peasy,” she proclaimed, arms akimbo.

On the level below that was a spa of steaming baths and icy brooks with mossy stepping stones and beds of soft foliage on its banks.

And below that was a library. “Easy, tiger,” Solo laughed, clamping a hand on Wufei’s shoulder.

Wufei scoffed. “There are no shelves, no tables or chairs. No **_**books.”**_**

Hilde said to Cathy. “Cute, isn’t it? How their minds work.”

Cathy giggled. “The information we seek is organized by space and time, not alphabets and pages.” She demonstrated how the room was used: “Say I wish to know more about the lay of lands -- geography.” She slid off her shoes and strolled across the room. The oddly-shaped tiles that had been arranged in a mosaic upon the floor glowed with each step.

“Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed. “There was an eruption at Mount Ontake?”

“Big one,” Hilde confirmed.

“How did I not hear about this?” Cathy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Sparkles of light danced under her soles, then upon her toes, and finally her ankles before fading. She made an exasperated noise. “There are less risky ways to take a dell.”

Hilde shrugged. “Plenty of humans thrown into the bargain, though. No questions asked.” To Solo and Wufei, she explained, “Natural disasters -- two birds, one stone.”

Cathy slipped her shoes back on and moved toward the entrance.

Duo hesitated to resume the tour. Instead, he pulled off his left glove and cautiously reached out to touch the wall. I tensed, uncertain of how the magic-imbued stones would react to the Sicarian, but they simply glowed.

With a gasp, Duo jerked his hand back. I reached for him, keen to heal away the injury.

“No, no, I’m OK,” he insisted. He blinked and then chuckled. “But I’m pretty sure I just learned how to clean, carve, and polish bone.”

Leaning around him, I pressed my palm to the same place. Understanding slid into my mind, a ghostly instructor taking up residence and demonstrating the proper techniques, guiding my hands in a dreamscape. I pulled back. “You did,” I confirmed, giving him a smile.

Cathy sighed wistfully. “I still can’t get used to that.”

“Weird, huh?” Hilde agreed. When I arched a brow, she elaborated, “D’you have any idea how many years of **_**good**_** jokes I wasted trying to get you to crack a smile?”

“Turns out all he needed was a human of his own,” Cathy teased.

I glanced at Duo, recalling how he’d objected to a similar assessment from Doktor S months ago in London. But now his eyes merely squinted with a smile. “The human would like to know what he’d get if he touched the ceiling.”

“Oh, astronomy, philosophy, theory…”

Hilde finished the list Cathy had started with: “And everything you’d ever -- or never -- wanna know about the birds and the bees.” She winked at Solo, who looked disturbingly intrigued. He reached up to touch the conglomeration of stones, but they remained dark.

He pouted.

Wufei ignored him. “Space and time,” he reminded our guides. “How is time a factor?”

Cathy said simply, “The longer you remain in contact with one source of information, the more you learn about it. Not just fine details and nuances, but its history.”

“If you’re only interested in a brief summary,” Hilde added, “then a couple of seconds ought to do it. Or you can literally meditate on it all day.”

“But,” Cathy warned, “the information comes and goes on its own. Today, bonework can be learned right there--” She pointed to the place that both Duo’s hand and mine had rested in turn. “Tomorrow, it might be fey cloth looming.”

“Cool,” Solo breathed.

Wufei pressed, “And how is the information updated?”

“The stones,” I told him. “Every time a fey’s head is used for its resurrection, its impartial knowledge is absorbed by the node: not personal memories or agendas -- nothing charged with emotion. Only mundane skills like language, mathematics, science. That energy, in turn, is shared with all the stones that originated from that particular point in the matrix.” Arching a brow, I concluded, “The reason this room was not carved from solid stone or even large blocks is because each tile came from a different node.”

“Wow,” Duo breathed out in satisfyingly appreciative awe.

I couldn’t not feel accomplished at having earned that reaction.

“But wait.” He put a hand on my arm. “There was lots of stuff that you didn’t--I mean, when you were brought back at Nith, you didn’t have access to something like this, did you?”

I shook my head. “Only the information that was stored in the node at Nith.” If that. I suspected that the masters deliberately withheld a great deal from juveniles. Anything that would enable a fey to successfully achieve -- or even dare to contemplate -- independence. It would explain why I had known nothing about human money. Gesturing to the room, I told Duo, “Libraries like this one are very rare.”

“So how come it’s not packed with fey right now?” Solo wanted to know.

Hilde smirked. “As if anyone would be able to concentrate today.” Her eyes flashed with lusty anticipation.

“How come today’s so special?”

Before Solo’s question could be addressed, Wufei interjected, “This has something to do with the court that you mentioned.”

“Indeed it does,” she replied. That and no more.

Solo’s brows arched. “Are we gonna be getting any details on that?”

“Soon.”

Edgy silence seeped into our gathering. I waited for Duo to look his fill of the room. Only when he shifted toward the winding stairs did the tour resume.

The lower half of the resort hotel consisted of segmented caverns. “Sleeping quarters for vagabonds, er, fey visitors,” Hilde explained with a rueful grin.

“What’s wrong with a bed?” Duo asked, sounding concerned.

“Not a thing. We’ve got plenty of those lining the outer walls of the building. Humans like to have windows. With a view.” She appeared quite pleased with herself for deducing that fact.

Cathy said, “But we dream better when we rest in the embrace of fey stone. Heals the mind. To a small extent.”

Hilde sighed. “But some wounds are too raw. Even for fey stone or skilled sways to smooth over.” She glanced my way. “And for those, only justice will suffice.”

Yes: the Silencer’s court. I drew a deep breath. Duo’s hand pressed to the small of my back, unseen by the others.

“But first!” Hilde trilled. “The crown jewel.”

“In the basement?” Solo doubted. “Wouldn’t that make it the clitoris?”

Duo didn’t even break stride when he smacked his own forehead with an open palm.

Hilde chuckled. “Or the prostate.”

“You’re both wrong,” Cathy insisted, placing both hands on the far right side of the surprisingly wide door. It swung open on a fulcrum that ran along the center: as the right side opened inward, the left swung outward. “It’s the womb.”

I took a single step into the room and stopped. “This is a node.” There was no mistaking the furrows in the floor or the raised dais, the large, stone cauldron-shaped depression in the center and the nine smaller “bowls” surrounding it. The walls glowed at irregular intervals, pulsing with mindless intent.

Rounding on Hilde, I snarled, “Given my companion’s position on the issue of fey resurrections, this room is now off-limits.”

Solo sputtered, “Fey resurrections? This is--?”

Wufei supplied: “A facility designed to hold a fey’s decapitated head.” He gestured toward the focal point of the room. The curvature of the stone was an unmistakably optimal size and shape. He jabbed a finger toward the furrows in the floor. “And drainage for blood.”

Duo let out a long breath, bowing his head.

I curved a hand around the back of his neck even as I informed Hilde, “Neither of us can endorse the practice of sacrifice.”

“You never have,” Cathy gently interjected when Hilde simply blinked with blank-minded confusion.

I rounded on her. “Explain.”

“There’s another way.” She insisted, “We’ve never relied on human sacrifices.”

Frowning, I pressed, “The masters cannot be unaware of this method.”

“Oh, they know of it.” She lifted a shoulder. “They’re just not eager to make it common knowledge.”

“Yeah,” Hilde bravely chimed in. “I mean, it makes them look pretty unnecessary. Outside of their precious dell, that is.”

I stared hard, but she didn’t back down. I could only hope she spoke the truth. I scanned the chamber, noting that several cavities along the wall appeared to be occupied.

Cathy confirmed my suspicions: “Fey loyal to the resistance… and the Silencer.”

“From the battle at Niagara?”

“Some, yes.”

“And the others?”

Hilde slung an arm around Cathy’s narrow shoulders. “Been waitin’ on the Weaver.” She gave Cathy’s cheek a pinch.

Cathy smacked her hand away with smirk. “Well, I’m here now.”

“Yup--”

A soft, roll of thunder rumbled through the stone.

“And it’s dinner time! We’re right on schedule. How about that?”

But she didn’t lead us up to the eatery. We descended three turns of the staircase further, arriving at--

“Welcome to court,” Hilde announced with barely contained excitement, and then she slid the stone door open.

“Holy hellfire fuck,” Solo breathed, gaping at the vaulted ceiling and its clumps of glowing crystals. The scent of incense and wood smoke. Murmurs and snarls and the bovine protests of the cattle that had been brought in for slaughter upon demand. The whispery shriek of knives being sharpened. And, at the center of it all, a stage of obsidian ringed with a moat of undying flame.

“Where is this place in relation to the hotel structure?” Wufei asked and was told we were currently below the basement parking.

Duo’s hand grasped mine tightly. “What exactly are you gonna have to do here?”

I cued Hilde to provide the answer to that.

“Heal the combatants until either the blood debt is paid or capitulation is accepted.” 

He startled. His grip tightened. “These fights could go on all night.”

“Days,” Cathy corrected him.

“Hey,” Duo said very quietly, tugging me closer. I bent my head and tilted my ear toward his lips. “You gonna be OK with all this? At Niagara, everyone got swept up in the fight.”

Including me. Yes, I remembered. “Would you stay?” I asked of him. Tugging his left glove off, I pressed his bare palm to my cheek. “Bring me back to the task at hand if my attention to it should weaken and waver?”

“Of course I’ll stay.” He glanced toward Solo and Wufei. “What about them? Is it safe for them to be here?”

I straightened. “Cathy.”

“Yes?”

“Will you be able to act as escort to both Solo and Wufei?”

“Of course.” She turned to my brother-in-law and my husband’s mentor. “So long as you agree to remain in close proximity.”

“Yeah, sure,” Solo chirped.

“Yes,” Wufei vowed.

“That includes bathroom breaks and trips to the buffet,” Duo reminded them both. Neither changed their answer.

Hilde’s smile curled further. Fey sharp teeth flashed. “Does that mean we’re doing this, sir?”

“We are. After we partake of hospitality.”

“Agreed!”

With a boisterous pirouette, she disappeared into the throng.

“Hospitality?” Solo checked.

Cathy answered: “Food, drink, rest, and possibly conversation with one’s host.”

“Huh. Sounds simple enough.”

Indeed it did. But it was what would come after that would tax us the most.

With an arm around his shoulders, I guided my companion to an unoccupied cluster of lounges at a short distance from the rough wall. The fire pit was bare, but Hilde returned with arms loaded with scented kindling which she placed upon the sand and lit with a torch borrowed from a passerby.

Our group was already drawing attention, stares and curious looks which Solo and Wufei met with their own. Duo and I ignored them. He watched the flames, his hands upon my knees where he sat between my open thighs. I nuzzled at the fey cloth covering his hair, ear, and neck, declaring him mine for all to see.

With the fire blazing, the countdown began. We would be permitted peaceful rest until it burned its last, and then court would commence. Hilde rushed off again to fetch us food and drink.

“There are other companions here,” Duo blurted suddenly.

“Hmm,” I agreed, scanning the shifting crowd. I could see several couples here and there. Human hands presenting morsels of meat, roots, and fruit to their respective consorts. The fey kept one hand upon his or her companion at all times, prepared to scoop their fragile human away from harm. The opposite hand they were permitted to eat and gesture with. A few couples sat within range of comfortable conversation. The humans only spoke with each other. No fey dared to address another’s companion.

How much of this did Duo see and understand? Not that the etiquette truly applied to him. He was no mere mortal human. He was of magic. One of us. And yet, he was also my companion; if he did not permit me to perform a consort’s duties, fey would not be deterred from approaching him directly. Nor would they hesitate to challenge me openly.

He tapped my thigh and twisted toward me. “I don’t wanna make this harder for you.”

I sighed out the tension that had begun knotting my shoulders.

“So I’m following your lead, OK?”

“Thank you,” I breathed against his lips, giving in to the temptation of a brief, soft kiss.

Hilde and two other fey returned with large wooden bowls of raw food. They worked quickly to prepare the meat and roots for roasting and passed the hand-held grill contraptions to Solo and Wufei. A third they staked at fireside for Duo, operating under the assumption that his hands would be busy. Then, they arranged the bowls and their remaining contents within easy reach of my companion.

Solo nudged Wufei. “Ever been camping?”

Wufei’s answering mumble was lost amid the unceasing murmurings of conversation, but I heard Duo very clearly when he sighed gustily and then asked, “You want any of this toasted or whatever?”

“No, thank you.” I wrapped my left arm around his waist, holding him snug and safe as he reached for the bowl of bloody meat. I picked up and smaller, empty bowl. Duo cracked and egg into it, scooped up and dropped in a flick of grated wasabi. I swirled the bowl a bit as he carved a bite-sized length of beef.

More than one gaze watched as Duo dipped the meat into the mixture and then offered it to me. I kept my attention focused on him as I opened my mouth and endeavored to wrap my tongue around the food, suck his fingers between my lips and then lap them clean in between chews.

When he shivered, I felt it. All along the front of me. From collarbone to groin.

His portion was only just beginning to sizzle at fire’s edge, so I plucked a slice of pear from the bowl of fruit and held it out for him to take. Which he did. With a flash of teeth and lush pucker of lips.

I licked at the edge of his jaw as he bit down.

Little by little, the strength of the fire burned out. Duo and I fed one another. A public display of ownership and unity that no fey would dare interrupt. Quite different from the banquet at Niagara, but I would not be answering any challenges tonight and, thus, I would be neither the victor nor the defeated.

No fey wine was offered here in the court. Only water or bitter tea that made Duo’s nose scrunch and his lips moue. He finished his own well-cooked steak as I nibbled on a slice of raw lotus root. Solo moved in and crouched beside the bowl of fruit, helping himself to some pink grapefruit and a few green grapes.

“Would you care for another serving?” I solicitously checked.

“Naw, Wu and I are good. So, what’s up next?”

I gauged the strength of our fire. “As soon as the flames die down to embers, there will be no impediment to requesting that I mediate dispute between fey. Stay close to Duo, but let him aid me if I require it.”

Turning to his brother, Solo asked, “How are you mixed up in this fey shit?”

“If we’re lucky, then there’ll be no reason for me to be.”

Irritated with his brother’s stroppy and evasive reply, Solo sucked in a breath.

I spoke before he could loosen his temper: “I may lose control.” I rubbed Duo’s arm. “It happened at Niagara and, if the bloodlust becomes too powerful, it may happen here.”

“Bloodlust?”

Duo headed off his next round of questions: “It’s more than just a vibe. You can’t miss it.”

Solo looked at his brother, his gaze solemn. “I’m not sayin’ that I’m cool with me and Wufei just leaving you here, but are you gonna end up coming between us and a shitload of blood-crazed fey?”

Despite appearances, Solo had indeed taken the time and care to **_**do the math,**_** as humans say. There was no way the two of them could insulate Duo from the multitude of fey milling about in this arena-like space.

“It won’t come to that,” Duo optimistically promised. “You guys are with me, and I’m with the Silencer. Nobody fucks with the Silencer.”

Interestingly, Solo didn’t remind his brother of the Sicarian’s power. He merely nodded. Exhaled. “Okie dokie.” He grabbed a chunk of papaya and retreated, resuming his sprawl beside Wufei. The fire flickered. Coughed and sputtered.

I grabbed onto the moment, angling toward Duo to claim a deep, greedy kiss. He opened to me, his fingers clenched in my hair, and I took every delicious liberty that he permitted. I did not know when I would next have the chance.

And then the sound of footsteps. A throat cleared just over my shoulder.

I forced myself to lean back. Duo slipped on his gloves and tugged the fey cloth back over his mouth and nose. I turned and looked up at the fey standing in my shadow. Out of the corner of my eye, the coals of our fire smoldered, weakly pulsing a wheezing glow.

“Speak,” I bluntly invited.

“I am Rohane. I challenge Mallek.”

Hilde shifted into my line of sight, ready to assist. “Fetch Mallek,” I told her and she promptly delegated the task to two trusted members of her team. We sat in silence as we waited. I rubbed Duo’s side, rewarding him for his patience.

When Mallek was brought forth, clearly reluctant, I demanded of Rohane, “State your grievance.”

“Abandonment. I was left to face Dekim’s forces alone in Boston.” A dispute that was well-aged, indeed. Thirteen years.

Rohane tugged off his shirt to reveal vicious scars. Slashes from claws and bite marks from teeth. He’d been shot and stabbed as well.

“Mallek, speak.”

“It was not abandonment. We were separated in battle.”

Rohane bristled and accused, “Yet you emerged without a scratch to show for your supposed efforts!”

With a gesture, I commanded Mallek to bare himself. I found no marks upon his flesh that could have been made so many years ago. In fact, there were no marks at all.

Turning to Hilde, I asked, “Who speaks for Rohane?”

One of her lieutenants shifted forward. “I do. He fought with us against Dekim and gained these injuries and more in that battle.”

Hilde herself spoke: “It was I who ordered Rohane and Mallek to cooperate in that conflict.”

I nodded. “Who speaks for Mallek?”

No one stepped forward.

Conversations had steadily faded throughout this exchange, but now a hush descended. Attention sharpened. Breaths halted and held.

I gave him one last chance. “Is there no one you would call upon?” It was customary to permit the accused a single fire’s time to summon a witness, but if the witness could not be produced, the consequences would be dire.

He lowered his gaze. “There is none.”

In that case, there was only one thing left to do. I nudged Duo up and then I stood. “To the rock, Rohane and Mallek.”

The proclamation echoed, rolled along the stone walls, and whipped a roaring cheer from the spectators in the chamber. Wufei winced at the racket. Solo’s hands twitched as though he might cover his ears. 

Rohane shucked off the remainder of his clothing, spun on his heel, and headed for the fire-ringed stage. Mallek was escorted by Hilde’s team. Duo stayed at my side as I approached the single bridge which spanned the moat of flame, but I did not cross it. Not yet.

At Duo’s back, Solo and Wufei stood. And, at theirs, was Cathy. I did not speak a command for the two fey to begin. This was their fight. I would neither referee nor declare a victor. They could fight until first blood or they could fight until one lay sprawled and helpless, wrecked and mutilated. It was not my place to interfere with the combatants’ methods. My sole purpose was to prevent the loss of life.

I waited.

The assembled fey watched, unblinking.

Rohane paced, glaring at Mallek, who stepped into a crouch and then--

Power crested in the room, their feral sides unleashed.

They crashed together, clashed and clawed and snarled and bit.

Green blood sprayed across the stone.

Rohane went down. Mallek, upon him.

Rohane twisted, knocked his opponent flat. Pinned. And then proceeded to carve the fey’s skin, embellishing each wound to the approval of the crowd.

Again and again and again. Mallek howled in agony.

The air vibrated with pain and an unstoppable lust for more. A cresting wave that pushed at me, raising the hair upon my neck--

Duo’s hand clamped tight on my wrist, but it wasn’t until his bare fingers slid beneath my shirt cuff that I was yanked from the vortex of violence.

I sucked in a sharp breath, locked my knees, and released the building heat into the ether.

“Jesus,” Solo swore just loud enough for the sound to carry to my ears.

Rohane was merciless, but he was also very clearly in control. He stabbed and slashed, duplicating each of his own scars upon his cowardly comrade, but he stopped before the fatal blow. With a fierce scowl, he gave himself a shake and resisted the shrieks and hisses of the audience. A feat that only a grudge like Heero would be capable of.

Rohane stood and declared, “I am satisfied.”

I urged Duo to shift aside so that Rohane could pass. Two Las Vegas fey approached the whimpering figure upon the stage and collected him, hauled him away and toward a place where he could continue his suffering in solitude.

“We will stand watch,” one of them informed me and I knew Mallek would not be permitted to die. I would be summoned to his side if his condition worsened fatally.

“Fuck,” Solo rasped, turning away from the sight of blood and torn flesh.

Hilde sighed. “Pretty tame,” she assessed dispassionately. “Considering Mallek more or less fucked Rohane over in Boston.”

The implication was clear: Solo’s jaw dropped; Wufei glared; Duo shivered and I tucked him in even closer.

Cathy agreed with Hilde. “A formality, then.”

I was glad Duo had not been forced to witness a truly vengeful encounter, but the night had only just begun.

Not daring to hope that we would be given a lengthy reprieve, I ushered our group back to the cold, dark fire pit.

“Would they really…” Solo shook his head, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to say the words aloud.

“Yes,” I answered. Duo’s grip clutched at my hand, which was curled over his shoulder, and his arm flexed against my waist, the corresponding fingers curling into a fist in the jumpsuit fabric. I knew the turn of his thoughts but I resolutely did not allow myself to think of my own past experience. Nor did I know how to apologize although I yearned to ease Duo’s agony.

When we resumed our seats, Duo placed himself upon my lap, tugged the fey cloth from his nose and mouth, and cradled my face in his bare hands. “Whatever you need.”

A hot rush of tears slammed into my eyes. Gathering him close, I kissed him softly. Thoroughly. “I am sorry I did not warn you.” I hadn’t wanted to even consider the possibility of the fight taking that route. But I’d known it could. For Duo’s sake, I offered bitter truth now: “When it happens, step into my arms. Look away. Please.”

I wished I could send him back to our rooms, but I recalled Niagara: the irresistible rush of bloodlust that had emptied my mind of everything beyond claiming the spine of my prey. I would never forget that moment of pure instinct. I would never not be terrified of it.

Duo pulled me close, winding his strong, slender arms around my broad shoulders and cradling my face against his clothed neck. I breathed him in. Never wanted to move away or look up.

Approaching footsteps.

My heart sank. I’d known our respite would be brief.

“Silencer.”

“Damn it,” Duo hissed, tightened his arms briefly, and then started to lean back.

I filled my lungs, straightened my spine, turned--

“Sorry! Sorry!” Hilde gasped, lurching between us before I could make eye contact with the next fey who would mount the black stage. “We’ve got a situation here, sir.”

A matter of more than just life and death. Nothing less could justify the interruption. Curious and wary, I stood.

She placated,“Please accept my apologies, Ralph.”

He growled, “You know how long I’ve waited for vengeance!”

“And you’ll have a shot at it. But this concerns a companion.”

Reflexively, I curled my body around Duo, shielding him from the mere thought of harm. “Where?” I commanded Hilde and she hurriedly led us out of the court.

“Companions take priority, eh?” Solo mused as Hilde rushed down the hall toward a bank of elevators.

I answered simply, “Yes.”

“What’s happened?” Cathy asked as Hilde punched the button for the eighteenth floor.

She dug her phone out of her pocket and angled it toward Cathy, who gasped and promptly passed it to me. An alert flashed on the screen accompanied by a room number.

“Who?”

“Her name is Wendola. She lives here with her female companion. For almost a year now.”

“Threats?”

“None, but Wendola was being hunted by Septum’s fey. For abandoning her post.”

I nodded. The information was needful, but would not be very useful at this exact moment. According to the room sensors, Wendola had gone feral.

“What’s going on?” Solo badgered.

The elevator began to slow. “Stay with Duo in the hallway,” I told my brother-in-law and his lover, “and stay on your guard. Cathy, Hilde, and I will take care of this.”

“Hopefully before she breaks through the door,” Hilde muttered fiercely. The elevator came to a gentle halt. The doors slid open. She shot down the corridor, Cathy and I sprinting in her wake. None of us needed to check the room numbers as we raced by; the thunderous crash of a body striking a reinforced door was like a beacon.

**_**Thud!** _ **

Of course it would be the last door at the very end of the hall.

**_**THUD!** _ **

“Ready?” Hilde checked, already bristling with aggression. I, too, shook off my human mask, filling my being with strength of purpose and snarling power.

“Open it.”

With a tap to her phone’s screen, she did. I wrenched the handle down and rammed shoulder-first into the door. Ducked down to make room for Cathy as she leaped over the threshold to tackle the female fey to the blood-soaked carpet.

The blood was dark red. Human. And as Wendola mindlessly struggled, scratching and chomping at empty air, her eyes flashing with tormented rage, Hilde and I swept the room. I crouched over the crumpled body on the bathroom threshold. My shoes squelched in the spilled blood. It was still warm. Fresh.

But there was nothing I could do for the human woman sprawled half upon the carpet and half upon the tiles. She was dead.

“Fuck the masters,” Hilde wheezed. The scent of blood called to her hunting instincts, her hunger and wildness, but she stood frozen. Shocked.

As was I. The complete ruin of this body -- it was unlike anything I had ever seen. She was--she--her body was missing nearly half of its substance. As though a violent explosion had gone off inside of her. And yet there was no blood or or meat upon the walls. Nothing upon the ceiling.

Hilde assessed, “This was no normal kill.”

Both of us turned toward the room’s surviving occupant.

“Wendola, be calm,” Cathy was firmly urging. “Speak to us. Tell us what you witnessed!”

Th floor vibrated with her incoherent snarls.

Hilde took a step back, leaned against the window casing, and pulled out her phone. “Otto,” she said into the receiver. “Room 1840. It’s urgent.”

Otto. I remembered him from the Silencer’s files. A skilled sway with over a century of experience. But I doubted he’d be of much use here. Wendola was not ready to control her feral fury and a sway’s power could only affect the emotions of those who were willfully receptive.

I reached toward the bed and tugged the topmost cover off, spreading it over the body. It would dull the scent a little. Hopefully enough for Wendola to successfully think beyond what had become of her companion. Pull herself out of the sudden abyss in her mind, the dark dearth and chilling vacuum where her companion’s presence had once shone and radiated.

I shivered.

The very thought of Duo lying in a river of his own blood, torn open and hollowed out--

I took two steps toward the door, needing -- more than anything -- to lay eyes on my lover.

The door swung open to reveal Solo’s frown of confusion which quickly morphed into horror at the sight of the blood. And when his gaze jerked over to the shrouded form in the bathroom doorway, he swallowed visibly. Holding up his phone, he said, “Heero’s calling. For you.”

I snatched the phone from his grasp, smearing blood over his fingers and the device. “This is not a convenient time--”

“A female companion is dead. Gutted. Within the last half hour. Here. There’s been no report of trespassers.”

I paused. “Here as well. But the situation is yet to be investigated.” Two female companions. Both dead. One here in Las Vegas and the other halfway around the world in Switzerland. Looking at Hilde, I ordered both her and Heero: “Contact all consorts. Now.”

I hung up. Returned the phone to Solo. Then I shouldered past him and gathered Duo into my arms.

“Her companion is dead?” he checked, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

I nodded.

“Do you… do you think she did it?”

It was almost unheard of for a fey to attack their own companion. It required a specific set of circumstances and, thus far, this did not fit that pattern. Not even remotely. “Doubtful.”

“What do we--we have to investigate,” he sussed out.

I nodded, looked up as the elevator doors opened and a tall, lanky fey loped toward us. “Yes, but we must ascertain how many have been affected.”

“Heero called because something happened over there, too.”

Ah, my Duo. Too smart for his own good.

With a jerk of my chin, I directed Otto toward the room, but remained in the hall. Unless Wendola successfully attacked anyone, there was nothing I could do. In addition, I was a stranger to her. If anyone could calm her, it would be Hilde and Otto, familiar faces.

The door to room 1840 swung open. Hilde leaned out into the hall. “Noin,” she explained, holding out her phone.

I pressed it to my ear. “Where?” I asked her. Given the timing of her call, it was entirely possible she was calling to report an equally horrific tragedy.

“The Puma Punku Dell, Bolivia. And another outside of Montreal, Canada.”

“When?”

“Minutes ago. Their consorts are inconsolable. It was their allies who called for you here.”

“The companions?”

“Dead.”

“Male or female?”

“Both female.”

“Send photos to this number.”

“Done.”

As I had with Hilde and Heero, I instructed her to send out a call to all consorts. “Will you be able to contact a skilled sway you trust?”

“Yes. We’ll do our best to get them through this.”

She hung up. I handed the phone back to Hilde.

Down the hall, a door opened. An elderly human couple paused long enough to glance our way. Duo threw his arms around my neck and messily kissed me on the mouth. A note of surprise emerged from my throat. My eyes slid closed and didn’t open until I heard the shush of the elevator doors closing.

“What was that for?” I had to clear my throat.

Duo shrugged. “So they’d think we were having drunken shenanigans over here.”

I didn’t understand.

Solo rolled his eyes. “They’re probably bitching at the front desk by now. Instead of at us.”

Ah. Rather than confront our gathering themselves, they’d decided to voice their displeasure to the hotel staff. The blood on my hands would remain unseen by anyone who might ask bothersome questions.

I bumped my forehead against Duo’s. “Well done.”

“No problem.” The sparkle in his eyes was brief and his smile wry, but the sight soothed the silent panic zooming through my veins just enough to allow room for contemplation:

What was happening? Were all companions in danger or only females? Who had done this? It had to be a coordinated attack--

“Four that we know of,” Duo murmured. But there could be more. We would have no way of contacting the consorts who yet served a master. And it could take time for word to reach fey who were in hiding.

Wufei interrupted his study of the closed door to say, “Her family must be notified.”

Solo squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll take care of her.”

The door opened. Cathy emerged, the knees of her trousers soaked in blood. The toes of her shoes. The heels of her hands. She leaned down to remove her soiled footwear. Sighing, she reported, “Wendola’s too distraught to be moved.”

I frowned at the door until Cathy stood and hooked a hand under my elbow. “Come on. We can’t do anything until the handlers sedate her. Hilde’s already made the call.”

Very well. I allowed her to maneuver us back into the elevator. She pressed the button for the twentieth floor.

“This is a big deal,” Solo nearly whispered. “I mean, the whole damn place is getting involved.”

“She’s borderline berserk,” Cathy replied solemnly.

“Berserk? What does that mean?”

“It’s when a fey has gone so far past feral, that they’ll never find their way back.” She glanced at Duo before saying, “A master doesn’t just permit their summoned to choose a companion as a reward for their services. Sometimes they allow it just so they can kill the companion. Untreated, it drives the consort into permanent madness. On the eve of battle…” She shrugged, the conclusion self-evident.

“Berserkers are uncontrollable,” I pointed out.

“There are masters who don’t care.”

Wufei murmured, “Which is why the Silencer upholds a policy of actively protecting companions.”

Cathy squared her shoulders. “Yes.”

The weight of that responsibility pressed upon my shoulders as Cathy followed us over the threshold into our rooms.

The door snicked shut. She wasted no more time: “Have you spoken to Midi?”

“Midi,” I echoed, the syllables empty of meaning.

“Yes. She’s a siren. You recruited her.” Cathy added, “And she currently has a female companion.”

I gasped.

Cathy nodded. “You need to call her. You’re the only one who knows where she is. The only one she’ll trust.”

“Which crate, babe?” Duo asked and I pointed to one near the bottom of the stack beside the living room window.

“You know what a siren is? “ Solo asked Wufei, who replied, “A fey whose powers manifest in their voice.”

“Like, the power of suggestion?”

“For starters.” Answering Solo’s prompting look, Wufei explained, “Siren are one of the most deadly fey.”

“Because they can talk you into killing yourself?”

“Because entire clans have been eradicated by one of their own members,” Wufei bit out, “after an encounter with a siren.”

“Fucking hellfire.” Solo swallowed. “Talk about the magic word. Shit. Tro, you sure you should be going after this Midi?”

“He must,” Wufei argued, saving me from the trouble as Duo and I continued shifting boxes.

Solo sighed. “Right. The companion-first deal.”

“No,” Cathy corrected. “Because a siren who’s berserking will turn any and all fey who cross their path. We’re talking an epidemic.” Arms crossed, she clutched her own elbows. “Doesn’t matter if it starts feyside or humanway. It’ll spill over, and when it does…”

Again, she didn’t need to waste words illustrating the result.

“In that case, Trowa cannot go alone,” Wufei realized.

Cathy agreed. “It would be best if you all could accompany him.”

Solo stiffened. “So she’ll fuck with our heads first?”

“No. In order to influence humans, a siren must be able to articulate coherently. You saw Wendola.”

Yes, Solo had. And, presumably, Duo and Wufei had heard the ruckus in the brief moments that the door had been open. It was ironic; if Midi were berserking, then Solo and Wufei would be the least affected by the sound of her voice. I was unsure of how Duo would react. But I didn’t dare ask him to remain behind. Not only would he categorically refuse, but he’d remind me of the fact that I was still too easily swayed by feral bloodlust.

Setting aside another incorrect box, I dug through the next one Duo placed in front of me and--

Ah! Yes. Here it was. A nearly empty file. Labeled with the fey rune spelling of her name. That in and of itself was unusual. I quickly learned why.

Midi had been a resistance spy in the service of Treize Khushrenada, and she had received orders exclusively from his guardian, Lady Une.

And then she’d reported to the Silencer.

Cathy had spoken the truth, then: there was no one else that I could send. It had to be me.

There was no phone number. No address. Only a set of runes that I recognized as fey coordinates, which meant--

I must begin my search in the dell.

Duo’s hand on my shoulder. “Tro?”

And not just any dell. This was the original home of the most powerful and devious master in the history of fey-kind: Treize Khushrenada.

Luckily, the creature was long dead. Gone for all the time remaining to the future of my species. Not that that meant this venture would be safe, but safe enough. Because, frankly, there was nothing that the Silencer and the Sicarian couldn’t handle side-by-side.

My heart settled back into my chest. I breathed. Felt a smile curl my lips.

And when Duo lightly joshed, “So, where we going, babe?” I had no reason not to tell him. No reason at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rock wall entrance to feyside where Trowa places his hand into the hole in the stone -- that’s inspired by a scene in the movie Roman Holiday. Super famous scene, actually. In the movie, they mention a legend: if a liar places their hand in the cavity, it’ll be cut off.
> 
> The idea that a fey’s mind can heal if the fey sleeps in contact with fey stone (or, magic imbued stone) is a spin-off of the myth that vampires must rest in the soil of their homeland. And also, there’s a hint that fey are also the point of origin for mythical beings like sirens and banshees.
> 
> Since fey don’t have clocks or calendars, they use celestial bodies to measure long periods of time (in the human world) and they use the amount of time it takes for a fire to die out to measure short periods of time. Yes, the fire method depends on a lot of factors, so it’s very inaccurate. It’s OK -- fey don’t care about being accurate down to the last second.
> 
> When I set out to write the fey court, I didn’t anticipate NCS happening, but as I was writing, I realized that it could and probably did happen during those eye-for-an-eye score-settling fights. Sometimes, I really don’t like this particular world of the fey.
> 
> I’ve decided that the colloquial term for the non-magical, human world that exists on the surface of the planet Earth is “humanway.”
> 
> So far in this series, we’ve been introduced to a variety of fey: readers (Quatre and (according to my headcanon) Dorothy), grudges (Heero and Rohane), mocks (Hilde), masters (Treize, Quinze, Tsuberov, Septum, Dermail, Mariemaia, Dekim), guardians (Zechs, Leia, Une), sways (Otto and (according to my headcanon) Noin), sirens (Midi), and handlers. Plus the Weaver (Cathy) and the Healer (Trowa).
> 
> Sways can affect a fey’s emotional state but only with the permission of the recipient.
> 
> Sirens can use verbal language to “program” humans; they’re generally forbidden from using their skills on other fey.
> 
> Handlers are like pharmacists; they deal with herbal remedies.
> 
> Cathy is unique because she deals mainly with interpersonal relationships, a spin-off of this is what makes her necessary for summoning a deceased fey. (More on this later.)
> 
> Trowa (the Silencer a.k.a. Nanashi) is also unique (of course).
> 
> We’ll get more on what magical tasks the masters can do very soon.
> 
> Plus, one more type of fey will be mentioned: fey who are natural trackers.


	4. Death Locked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solo POV
> 
> Warnings: implied character DEATH
> 
> Music I wrote to: “Onward & Upward” featuring Fleurie and produced by Tommee Profitt
> 
> also...
> 
> ART that I wrote to: "2x3 Age Difference" by thenumber2pencil (AO3) / electricabyss (instagram) at https://www.instagram.com/p/B8PwEAdHeMj/?igshid=1gww30pvkvdy6  
> SRSLY, this gorgeousness kept me going over right up until the Happily Ever After. I cannot overstate how motivational this sketch was. THANK YOU, DARLING!! (^_^)

This really wasn’t how I’d expected to enter the fey realm for the first time. Not that I was complaining. Much. Well, OK, not about that.

“Hey.” I put out a hand to halt the sudden storm of motion happening in the apartment. Wufei was slamming into our set of rooms to collect his sword; Duo was patting and tugging his ninja duds into place; Trowa was working at tightening and double knotting his boot laces. This shit was happening. Aiming my call for caution at Cathy, I blurted, “Hold up a second. How the hell are we even going to get where we need to go?”

“The portal,” she answered. “The safest way is via the fey council.”

“What--in Switzerland?”

“Yes. From there, you’ll be able to access just about any dell you need. Without having to pay a toll.”

I didn’t ask what the toll would be. Wufei shoved my backpack at me and I checked its contents. First aid kit--check. Taser--hell yeah. Emergency field shit like rope, zip ties, and duct tape--yup, yup, and yup. I was ready to be a shockingly (heh, pun) awesome boy scout.

“OK, great. But I got a question. How’d you guys know a fey had gone feral in that room? Sensors?”

Cathy tilted her head. “Yes,” she answered but from her tone I knew there was a lot more to it than that. Either she didn’t want to share or she didn’t want to hold us up.

“Can we get a portable version of that to go?” I requested with a charming smile and rolling gesture. “It’d be nice to have some warning. See what I’m sayin’?”

Trowa shook his head. “Electronics won’t function feyside.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

I dug out my trusty, battle-tested clan-provided Taser. “So this’ll…”

“Be a handy projectile.”

I shoved it back in my bag. “Works for me.” I slid my arms through the straps and hiked my backpack into place. “D, any words of advice?”

“Take nothing for granted,” my little brother told us.

Trowa said to Cathy, “Show us to the portal.”

Still shoeless, she led the way back to the elevator. She pushed the button for the basement… and kept on pushing.

Eyeing her thumb and the fact that she was leaning on it, I mused, “So, like, how do those feral sensor things work?”

“Audio,” Trowa replied. “A feral fey’s vocal range extends below what is audible to human ears.”

He bared his teeth and I watched as they sharpened. The short hair at the nape of his nape went spiky and bristling. His eyes flashed. Fingers curled into claws. He snarled and the sound seemed to not only roll out of his chest but then double back, disappearing deep in his gut and skirting the edge of my eardrums.

“Trowa!” Cathy chastised. “You’ll engage the emergency stop if you keep that up.”

He quieted. “You get the idea.”

I looked at Duo. “That doesn’t freak you out?”

He smirked. His eyes sparkled. “Nope.”

“Ugh.” I shuddered. As if I’d ever want to know what turned my baby brother’s crank. Yuck. “So the alarm sounds when the mic picks up a certain range of sound,” I summed up.

Trowa shook off the feral edge. “More or less.” He shrugged, but it sounded a lot like there was more, not less. Eh, whatever. Not important. Not for me, anyway. If Duo wanted to sit through the full lecture later, more power to him.

The elevator bypassed every single floor between the penthouses and the basement, but Cathy didn’t let up… and the elevator cab didn’t stop. I joined Wufei in frowning at the floor display and watched the “B” wink out before a strange symbol flashed.

“Vagabond residences,” Cathy announced, reading what must have been a fey rune. And then, “Node.” And after that, “Court.” And finally, she lifted her hand away and declared, “Portal.”

I almost asked what was below the portal level… but shut my mouth because if she told me, she’d probably have to kill me. What a bummer that would be.

The elevator doors slid open and the theme of dry-and-dusty underground cavern continued, but this room was spiked with stalactites and stalagmites. “These the fey version of turnstiles?” I muttered, watching my step as we moved toward the central portal.

I couldn’t really call it a door, per se. It reminded me of a phone booth… but round. Like -- yeah! Now I remembered it! -- those spinning doors that were used in darkrooms. (I’d once had a girlfriend who’d worked for a school paper. Darkrooms might seem like the perfect place to makeout and all, but the chemical smell was kind of a turnoff.)

Cathy reached for a chain that dangled beside one of the portals and pulled firmly. The cylindrical cover spun around, revealing an opening. Trowa moved to go first. Wufei joined him.

“Hey!” I objected.

Duo punched my arm hard enough to get my attention. “A fey and a clan member. It’s message that we’re cooperating.”

And a pretty good one, I had to admit. “Yeah, OK,” I grunted, making no attempt to look happy about having to wait for the next one. There wasn’t enough room for more than two people.

Trowa glanced back and I queued up an eyeroll in response the smirk I was betting that he was gonna send my way, but he didn’t. He looked at my little brother with eyes that sparkled with pride. I blinked at his marveling smile and then Cathy was pulling a second chain and the rounded wall of the portal whooshed shut.

“He doesn’t have to look so fuckin’ surprised,” I grouched.

Duo side-eyed me with sass.

I elaborated, “Hasn’t he figured out how smart you are, yet?”

That rattled a chuckle loose from him. “Yeah. But we’re working against something like twelve years of disappointments. Baby steps, So-bro.” He clapped a gloved hand against my shoulder. “But it’s nice to know you’ve got my back here, too.”

I palmed the top of his head. Stupid fey cloth. Just couldn’t give him the noogie he deserved. “Shut up, dumb-bro.”

Yeah, I might call him an idiot sometimes. Sibling shit, y’know? But he was right: I’d defend more than just my brother’s life and well-being. I’d defend his intellect and his heart.

That didn’t mean I was gonna be lecturing Trowa again anytime soon, but I could call bullshit to Duo. Loudly. In his husband’s presence. Drop the mic and walk away. Let them sort it out.

That was me: Solo Maxwell. Keepin’ it real.

“You’re up, boys,” Cathy announced, switching back to the first chain and drawing the doorway back around. “Hands and feet inside at all times. No spitwads or loogies.”

“You’re taking all the fun outta it,” I bitched.

She winked, and sobered. “Good luck.”

Duo and I stepped inside. Listened to the click of chain links running over wheels or gears. Braced ourselves against the rumbling **_**whoosh**_** of the rounded walls spinning. A funky tingle shot through me. My elbow bumped Duo’s.

And then soft light was spilling over us from straight ahead. A chandelier. A colorfully tiled stone floor. Wufei and Trowa standing off to the side at a checkpoint of mirrored glass. A two-way mirror, probably.

Trowa waited for Duo and I to get our asses out of the portal and across the room before he rapped a knuckle on the glass. “The Silencer and his companion are here to speak with either Heero or Sylvia. We’re accompanied by two human guests. Our business is urgent.”

I was tempted to slide an arm around Wufei the way the Silencer did to his companion, but. One, Wufei would slug me in the kisser if I got in the way of his sword. And, two, we didn’t really have the height difference to pull it off. Jesus but a full-grown Trowa was intimidating. Tucking my brother proprietorially up against his side did nothing to soften his image. In fact, it made him look more badass. It make him look like the kind of fey who would take whatever he wanted because there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do to stop him.

The only thing that made these kinds of asshole displays tolerable was Duo’s arm looped around the back of his spouse’s waist. Not mere, meek obedience, but a claim of his own.

A soft click of a speaker turning on had me scanning the wall for it. I found it just as a voice informed us, “You have been announced. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Well. If we had a minute, then I supposed I might as well take a gander at what else was in the room.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I gaped at the arrangement of portal-pod things. The room itself was enormous and the transport infrastructure was… holy hellfire. It was an engineering marvel.

Rather than each doorway being firmly planted on the floor like the ones back in the deep basement of Fairyland, these were arranged in the shape of a giant globe. Each pod acting as a single link. Kinda like those building sets kids used to make 3-D geometric shapes with colored sticks and wooden joints.

The thing was so massive that I couldn’t even see the whole. Besides which, this wasn’t the only reception area. As I gawped, the sphere began to rotate on a tinkle of metal, ringing like a soft chime before it stopped. The pods that I could see weren’t aligned with the floor in here, which probably meant that a visitor had just arrived at another check-in point.

Wow.

I glanced at Duo, trying to squash a tickle of jealousy because he was probably taking all this in stride. Mister Feyside Tripper. My stupefaction was probably amusing the hell outta him.

But… no. Actually, he looked just as stunned as I felt. Only, I wasn’t being treated to the view on the other side of his slack jaw. Thanks to the cloth covering the lower half of his face.

“This a first for you, huh?” I assessed.

He nodded. “I’ve seen fey stuff inside the dells, but not up here. Humanway.”

The system was damn impressive.

Wufei’s arm brushed mine as he stepped over and stood next to me, examining the device with a critical eye. “How does it move?”

“Magic,” Trowa answered and I finally got to use the eyeroll I’d been saving up in reply to his cocky smirk.

I huffed. “Seriously.”

“Seriously. Magic conducts at varying frequencies. Put two opposite one another--” He held up his hands, palms facing but a few inches apart. “--and it creates a vacuum between them. No friction.” Nodding toward the structure, he added, “Even you could shift it.”

“Excuse me?” I sputtered.

“I meant, a non-magical human.”

Sure he had. The tricky shit. I glared at his innocent look. Which didn’t look all that innocent on a thirty-something face.

Wufei didn’t take offense. Nope, he was way too focused on the technological marvel. Reached out to touch it with his bare hand and was just inches away when a section of wall beside the two-way mirror ground open on a whispering rumble.

As it slid back, I took note of its dimensions. The thing was over four inches think. Jesus wine and fish flakes.

Heero Yuy emerged from the shadows. “If you’d called, I could have told you my report is still incomplete.”

Sanctimonious asshole.

Trowa seemed totally immune to it, assholing right back at him: “Las Vegas is still Hilde’s territory.”

Translation: she should be the one Heero coordinated with.

He said, “We have immediate business under the dell.”

Heero blinked. “Which?”

“Khushrenada.”

He squinted. “Winner will know the moment you set foot there.”

Trowa didn’t change his request. “Today is as good a day as any to test his loyalty.”

Loyalty. Holy fuck buckets. After all the backstabbing bastardness Wiener had put both Trowa and Trowa’s previous incarnation through, it just boggled my mind that my brother-in-law could ignore his God-given right to exact revenge on that self-entitled shit.

If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought that it honestly didn’t bother him in the slightest. He acted as if he couldn’t care less that Fat Cat had set him up for being used.

But he did care. He probably cared too much. Which was why, ever since a transatlantic flight, Duo was the one he sought solace from.

Damn but it was hard to imagine this fully capable fey fighter as a tiny boy, but hotel walls are thin and my hearing has always been just fine.

Heero shrugged. “I’ll confirm that Hilde’s on standby.”

I guessed that meant we had his permission to go. Jeez.

He stepped back and nodded to someone on the other side of the two-way mirror. “Dial it up.”

A quiet pealing of a bell behind me had me turning to watch the show. The sound reminded me of those meditation balls that you were supposed to hold in one hand and rotate one around the other. The ones that were hollow and gave off a serene **_**ping**_** when jostled.

The faceted sphere rolled slowly until one doorway was centered and level with the floor.

“Leave room for luck,” Heero said flatly and Trowa nodded.

Huh. Weird send-off. But then, most fey things were slightly warped and off-kilter. I still couldn’t figure out what Trowa had against taking my hand. Whenever I’d held it out to him, he’d always grasped my wrist. One of these days, I’d get around to asking about that.

“Wufei and I go first,” Trowa ordered and Duo stiffened. Large hands framed his veiled face and Trowa scrunched his whole body down so that they were eye level. “If you feel my scars burning, come through with hands bared.”

Releasing a hot breath, Duo nodded. “You got it.”

So, my bro and I were the cavalry. All guts and glory. Hoo-rah.

Trowa hesitated for a moment longer, just long enough for Duo to act, tugging aside the fabric on his face and hooking a gloved hand over the back of his consort’s neck, dragging him into a kiss. A feral one, by the look of it and I was trying really hard not to look too much. Little brothers weren’t supposed to lustily tongue-fuck grown men that looked twice their age. Ever.

Wufei snorted. At me. I pointed a finger at his smirk. “You’re not cute, Chang.”

“Denial,” he drawled dryly. “How adorably predictable.”

I grabbed for his ponytail and lunged for his lips. Kissed him, hot and searing and possessive. “Now who’s being an instigating asshole?”

He arched a brow at me. “If the name escapes you, either invest in an eye exam or memory aids.”

God, he was such a fucking brat. I gave him one more kiss: a quick, soft peck on the lips. “Don’t make me have to bust in and save your ass.”

“You’d enjoy that far too much,” he agreed and then moved with Trowa to step into the portal. With a flash of slick, steely metal, the door rotated closed. Duo squared off with me as we waited for it to reopen.

Beside me, my brother twisted around and called back over his shoulder. “Yo, Heero. Sylvia OK?”

The fey nodded once. Solemnly. “I am keeping a close eye on her.”

Duo nodded.

The portal revolved. The door whispered open. Duo and I knocked arms and elbows as we both jumped into the pod and waited to be delivered to the fey realm.

God. Was this really happening?

It sure was, although, to be honest, I’d kinda figured it would eventually.

Duo crouched in the gloom of the enclosed space. I shifted into a fighting stance.

And then: movement. Not in front of us, but beneath our feet.

I didn’t even have time to yelp. I was falling, arms flailing. Duo growled in the rush of wind and clamped onto my arm just as we crashed onto what had appeared to be a stable dock from above, but was actually some sort of floating raft. On a sea of silvery mercury.

Duo’s grip on my arm kept me from pitching sideways when my feet slid into the cracks between polished bones. Femurs, if I had to guess. At least it seemed watertight.

I glanced around, frowning as my eyes saw only an endless horizon in all directions. “The fuck?”

“Hold on,” Duo said, kneeling down toward the edge of the toxic ocean and exhaling a long breath. Like he was blowing out an army of birthday candles.

Amazing, it created ripples that didn’t just spread out -- they pulled us along in their wake, disappearing suddenly only a few feet ahead of us and I instinctively braced both Duo and myself for a collision with some sort of invisible barrier. The looking glass? I thought wildly, and then--

A shimmering veil curved around us and then popped. Exploded in silence and the raft, the mercury, and the endless horizon were all gone. Totally. As if it had been a dream. Or a reality inside a giant soap bubble. I looked behind me -- nothing. Looked up and blinked at the slowly dancing sphere above our heads. Where a chandelier would have been, a huge soap bubble glistened, iridescent and revolving. Floating on a breeze that didn’t exist.

Before I could wonder how the hell we were going to get back, Duo tugged on my arm and I started paying attention to what was at ground level.

We were in a crumbling, stone gazebo perched a good hundred meters above the ground. Oh, Jesus. I tried not to look down as the wind buffeted us. Instead, I looked around. No Wufei. No Trowa. Only a barren landscape of shifting rock. I gaped, mesmerized as the boulders rolled toward and over one another as if each were driven by its own hamster running in a wheel. What the actual hell?

And then Duo finished pacing off the floor of the tiny gazebo, coming to a stop in front of what was clearly supposed to be exit. I shuffled forward and then had to close my eyes. Swallow.

Oh, my god. We were perched on the tippy top-top of a stone pillar. I’d glimpsed a staircase spiraling down, down, and down some fucking more. Right into the boulder land. No. No way. Nuh uh.

“Hey, D. We gonna--whoa! What are you doing!?” I screeched as he stepped out onto the teeny tiny stone landing and, instead of turning toward the stairs, pivoted in the opposite direction and put his foot out over thin air.

“Gettin’ us outta here,” he replied, completing that suicidal step as I lunged toward him, ready to grab his arm and haul him the hell back onto stable ground--

But suddenly, a perfectly flat stepping stone rushed up outta nowhere and slid under his foot.

He grinned, annoyingly triumphant. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re about to break your neck, that’s what it looks like,” I informed him.

My brother paused and blinked at me. “You really don’t feel it?”

“Feel what?”

A scowl scrunched his brow. “That there’s a right way and a wrong way. It’s like the difference between going downhill and uphill.”

“I’d really rather not try downhill, if you get my drift.”

Duo snorted and lifted his other foot. Another floating stone zoomed out from its hiding place to support his weight. “C’mon. It’s up this way.”

“Up? Where?” I bleated, trying very hard not to think of how big a drop was yawning under those hovering stepping stones. In order to get my ass moving, I had to suck in a deep breath and focus completely on Duo. Nothing else. I trotted after my brother, my entire body thrumming with anxiety as I waited for the wind to shove me out into open air or the stone beneath my feet to dissolve or pterodactyls to swoop down on us.

“Keep up, moron,” Duo needled me and, with the next step, I could see past the edge of the gazebo roof. In sky above my head, hanging like a sprig of mistletoe, was a massive root system. Like a willow tree’s. There was no soil to speak of, but it was covered in lush moss and tufts of grass. Cheerful little white lilies.

Duo reached a hand back for me and then a hand up into the snarl of greenery and grasped something that was either a flat, verigated rock or--

Or a book.

I gaped and gasped for breath as Duo and I found ourselves standing in a library. A human-type library. With books on shelves and carpet under our feet. Duo’s hand was still holding onto a volume that was partially tilted out of the crowded case. I took a peek at the cover: **_**Zen Gardening for Dummies.**_**

OK, now this was just turning into a bad joke.

“Where’s Wu and Tro?” I wanted to know. Wanted to get this party started and finished and then get the hell outta this nuthouse.

Duo took two steps toward the door before it swung open, startling both of us into defensive postures, but it was only our bros, both of them looking a little windblown and a lot stressed. Like they’d been tearing through the place searching for us.

Putting out an arm to stop me from moving any closer, Duo commanded Trowa: “Shift.”

**_**Shift.**_** I’d heard this before. Spoken by the Silencer to the injured and fallen fey at Niagara.

Trowa immediately complied, regressing into the late teen who had stumbled out of the forest near Caerlaverock with his arms around my little brother.

Duo relaxed. “You OK?”

His husband nodded, straightening up to the Silencer’s full height and robust age. “Elaborate security measures.”

“Quatre’s?”

“I don’t think so.”

But he couldn’t be sure. So I tossed a thought out there: “Let’s get going before he shows up, yeah?” I paused beside Wufei to check, **_**“You**_** OK?”

He nodded, but the motion was automatic. Yeah, OK. Group therapy was gonna be happening later. Or comparing notes. Something.

“Where the hell are we?” I asked, turning my focus to our surroundings.

Wufei let out a long breath. “Within the Khushrenada Palace. Feyside.”

Palace. Yeah, I could believe it. We were standing in a corridor that was just about as wide as the apartment back in Boston. The walls seemed to shirt or breathe, but maybe it was the play of light? Something illuminated the manuscripts and jewels, the carved skulls and polished weapons. **_**Trophies,**_** I realized as my gaze roved and my brain struggled to take in the grandeur.

I glanced through archways as we shadowed Trowa, spying corners of luxuriously upholstered furniture beside laboriously carved stone fixtures that reminded me of the fire pits and butcher’s blocks back at Fairyland. And then there were the ceilings. For some mysterious reason, many of them sported various items of furniture in between what could only be called skylights by a major stretch of the imagination.

The sound of rushing water whispered in my ears and gained in volume with each step we took. At the end of the hall, I stopped short, blasted by the misty spray of a gushing waterfall. What the thing was doing here indoors, I had no idea.

“Well, that’s one way to avoid calling a plumber,” I mused, glancing with curiosity around the opposite corner and startling. Unless I was mistaken, that was the library just down there. But…

Looking back the way I was sure we’d come, I frowned at what seemed to be a collection of musical instruments upon a floor that looked like a stained glass window. On the wall behind them, chairs and lounges had been arranged. Uselessly. Hell, first the ceiling and now the walls sprouted furniture? This was getting ridiculous.

Wufei gasped and I turned back around. My jaw dropped as my gaze followed Trowa’s progress up the wall toward the ceiling. He wasn’t climbing it, no. He was strolling. Like every solid surface had its own gravity.

He crouched at various points and touched his fingertips to the wall -- er, floor, er. Fuck, you get what I mean. At each moment of contact, a chord of sound filled the air, momentarily beating back the roar of the water. Finally, Trowa reached one that made him hesitate. He touched it a second time and told us, “This one.”

Great. Super. I was so glad it worked for him. Not sure what that was supposed to do for us earthlings still standing on the floor.

Trowa gestured for Duo to join him and I snorted. This was gonna be one hell of a trust exercise.

Duo eyed the wall, strode over to it, and then -- with only the slightest hesitation -- placed his foot on the wall and pushed off.

And he didn’t fall ass over tea kettle back to the floor.

Baffled, I let Wufei nudge me toward the wall and my mind completely blanked when, a few shuffling steps later, I was standing on the fucking wall. Fucking fuck. This was just--nope. Not thinking about it. The only thing I could do was match my lover’s determined strides as we caught up to where Duo and Trowa were contemplating the rushing water opposite.

“So we’re going through there?” I heard myself say. At this point, nothing would surprise me. Not even if a crowd of fey in tailcoats and ball gowns wandered in and musicians picked up the instruments and struck up a lively rendition of the hokey pokey.

I looked around -- just to be sure -- but the place was still empty of life. With the exception of us.

Or was it?

Duo’s words -- **_**“Take nothing for granted.”**_** \-- slid under my skin and started buzzing. I thought of the library: information hidden in stone and yet shifting away like piles of autumn leaves from one day to the next. Jesus.

“Wufei. Let’s go.”

My lover stiffened, sucked in an abrupt and fortifying breath, strode over to where Trowa stood. My brother-in-law’s fingers were tangled with Duo’s, but with a quick squeeze, they slid apart. I hung back with my brother and watched them step up to the waterfall and then into it. Through it.

I moved to follow.

“Just a sec,” Duo murmured, jaw clenched.

What? Oh. Right. He was waiting for a sign from Trowa. The burning through his scars. Whatever that was supposed to mean. I never had gotten around to asking for details which was just dumb. It wasn’t like this was a totally new phenomenon; Trowa had mentioned it back in Master O’s little clunker car as we’d chugged-clugged-rattled out to Hanscom Airfield.

Duo scowled, hating the fact that we weren’t shoulder to shoulder with our respective men, but he kept a lid on it. I was impressed.

Shit. My little brother was really growing up. Putting someone else first. Because we both knew how spectacularly badly Trowa would handle it if Duo walked into a trap and got hurt, trapped, captured, taken. Yeah, we’d been there. Done that. Not particularly interested in a repeat, thanks.

“OK,” Duo said as a minute passed and, apparently, no warning had come.

I huffed. Just because we were on the move didn’t mean I didn’t have something to bitch about: “Great. Let’s get doused.”

Duo smirked. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

We were just a couple of paces away now. I could feel the billowing mist, but it didn’t feel cold. Or wet. I couldn’t quite figure out what it did feel like -- thick air? Was that a thing?

And then we were walking into the torrent--

And emerging in the middle of an arid desert.

I patted myself just to be sure, but I was dry. Completely dry. I blinked at Wufei who was looking just as shell-shocked as I felt.

Duo didn’t seem to think it was weird that we’d somehow made it here without a drop of water on us, or that we’d appeared dead center in the middle of a wasteland. White sand. Pink sky. Orange sun. It was cold.

While Wufei and I were gawking, he jogged over to where Trowa was shuffling in the sand, attention fixed downward as he seemed to be pacing off a curving line in the sand. I shook myself and Wufei’s eyes narrowed. Yet again we were lagging behind. Damn it.

We took off for the seemingly random spot Trowa was focused on.

“Stand here,” he instructed, pointing us to enter the circle he’d carved. Duo was already inside the shallow trench and like hell I was being left behind.

Crouching, Trowa reached his first, middle, and ring fingers down to the sand. He paused and, glancing up at us, warned, “We may encounter security precautions.”

Wufei nodded, reaching up and back, curling his hand around the sword pommel. I assumed a solid stance.

And then we watched as he drew some sort of design -- maybe a fey rune -- in the sand. For a moment, nothing happened, but then I saw what couldn’t possibly be sparkles of green shimmering up from the depths of the troughs. Three stripes of fey green seeped up like burbles from a spring. And then--

A cave. Check that -- a cavern, I decided as I scanned our surroundings. All four of us were in a room-sized structure. Yellow sand under our feet. Walls of rock arching over our heads. Ochre and soot and splatters that looked a lot like dried blood on the walls.

“Don’t move,” Trowa instructed calmly just as eyes glowed deep within one of the many tunnels yawning at us from all directions.

A growl just there in the darkness. A scrape of what could only be claws against stone. And not just from the tunnel that I was facing. The sounds came from behind me. From left and right.

An answering rumble vibrated deep in Trowa’s chest, sending shivers down my spine and standing my hair on end.

The creatures answered with a chittering that -- Jesus God -- nearly made me wet my pants. These sounds -- these creatures weren’t possible. Not unless we were smack dab in the mother of all nightmares. Or maybe we’d stumbled into some primeval realm because this fear was like nothing I’d ever felt before. If I hadn’t already been focused on Trowa’s directive to stay put, I probably would have been climbing the fucking walls in a blank-minded panic.

But it was too late to run now.

Those glowing eyes stopped approaching. Stopped and stayed. Stared. Unblinking.

Stalemate.

“Uh… what now?” I rasped, my voice cracking as I battled against terror.

“We wait.”

Wait. Damn. Easy for him to say. I tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

An eternal moment followed as I stared at the pair of silvery eyes in the gloom. For sure, this creature wasn’t the closest one, but my neck was made of stone. I couldn’t have turned my head even if I’d wanted to.

Motion. A whisper of fabric. The murky depths of the tunnel ahead shifted.

“Naash?” a woman’s voice called softly, warily.

Trowa didn’t nod. “I was called Nanashi once.”

There was a pause. And then a very unladylike cuss word. A blonde woman in flowing silk emerged. The eyes of her guard demons remained on us as she studied Trowa with increasing disappointment.

“They finally did it. The philosophers,” she said, drifting close enough to palm Trowa’s scarred cheek. But she didn’t. Her fingers hovered above his skin. A moment passed in silence and then she lowered her hand. Glanced at Trowa’s scarred right. Turned her gaze to Duo.

“The Sicarian. It is done.” Looking back to Trowa, she asked, “What do you recall from before?”

He shook his head.

“Shift,” she breathed.

He did. “Now you, Midi.”

She complied, aging until white hair momentarily enveloped her wavy, golden locks. “You know who I am even though you do not remember.”

“Cathy,” he explained.

“Hm.” This amused her. “And are these tasty gifts from her?” Midi’s sparkling golden eyes danced from me to Wufei.

“No. They’re mine. And I do not intend to share them.”

“Greedy.”

If she hadn’t been teasing my brother-in-law about eating people, this conversation might have been kinda entertaining.

“If Cathy owes you a debt,” Trowa carefully phrased, “then permit her efforts on your behalf to pay it in some part.”

She quirked her brows, inviting him to spit it out.

“Within the last hour, four female companions have been slain. I am here at Cathy’s urging to ensure that yours yet lives.”

Midi had frozen at hearing the news, but now her lips pulled back into a snarl. “I would never harm my Helen.”

“We are almost certain that the consorts are blameless. The threat is something else.”

She paused, a heartbeat away from pouncing upon Trowa, and panted, “A moment.”

And then she fell, disappearing through the floor which, up until this moment, I’d assumed was solid.

Take nothing for granted.

Holy hellfire. No shit, Sherlock.

The eyes continued watching us. “So, that’s a siren,” I said, pushing back the silence and encroaching horror. Now that we were all on our own again, surrounded, the fear was creeping back up my numb limbs and over my thrumming skull.

“Yes,” Trowa replied gravely and, for the first time, I really **_**really**_** got just how much danger we were in.

“She mean it?” I asked conversationally. “About the whole snacking on humans thing?”

Duo answered, “Waste not, want not.”

Trowa’s hand twitched in a mindless urge to reach for his companion.

“What?” I huffed.

Wufei whispered, “The masters require a human sacrifice in order to summon a dead fey.”

“It’s a real production in the dells,” Duo continued. “A veritable banquet.”

I blinked. “Tro? You ever, uh…?”

“Yes.”

Jesus. “D?”

“Yeah, I knew.”

And from the timbre of his tone, he wasn’t cool with it. So there was that, at least. But if Duo had known, then how could he not hold it against his consort? I tried, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember a single instance when Duo had snubbed him for no reason at all. “You guys talked about this?”

“No,” Trowa replied tightly.

Duo said, “But after the New York Dell -- I put it together.”

That long ago?

Trowa exhaled, the line of his broad shoulders softening. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Duo urged in an intimate tone that Wufei and I had no business hearing. “Not your fault.”

Because Trowa had been forced to participate or because he hadn’t known any better? Well, whatever the reason, Duo didn’t hold it against him and, of the three of us, he was the one with the most cause.

“Naash.”

I jerked, looking up at the sight of Midi crouching on the edge of a small tunnel opening. If this had been the human world, she would have been hanging out in some kind of vent. Or maybe perched on the branch of a tree overhead. She dropped to the ground with practiced ease and, with a gesture, the glowing eyes retreated. The unseen creatures stood down, returned to their kennels… or pits of Hell.

“My companion is unharmed.”

“Good.”

“I would make a request.”

He nodded, inviting her to name it.

“Helen and I will reside near you. I would have my companion in the presence of our Healer until the threat is identified and countered.”

“I currently reside in Las Vegas.”

“Hilde’s territory.”

“Yes.” He didn’t ask her if that was a problem. Because no way were we trekking halfway across the freakin’ country again just to make her more comfortable. No matter who the hell she was.

Maybe she sussed out our priority. With a knowing glance at Duo, she agreed. “We will make our own way there. Expect us by sunrise. Safe travels, Naash.”

She turned away.

“Wait,” Duo called.

She paused.

He asked, “How’d you know what I am?”

Midi shifted to face Trowa before giving her answer: “I was the one who told you that H had conceived the idea for the Sicarian.” Her attention shifted to his cheek and she tilted her head in sympathy. “This rune. The one on your hand and… at least one more, yes? Their true meaning are not known by many fey. But this combination -- it’s unmistakable.”

Trowa didn’t say anything.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time,” Midi mused with something that might have been regret. Or sympathy.

Drawing in a breath, Trowa said, “We’ll alert Hilde to your arrival.”

This time, when she left, she did so via one of the tunnels.

“Okie dokie,” I muttered. “So, which way do we--”

I didn’t even have time to finish my question before my feet-legs-hips were being sucked down into the floor.

And suddenly, I was being spat out on a jungle hillside. My heels slid out from under me on the slick grass and I landed hard on my rump. Ow, damn it.

“That was rude,” I opined.

Wufei snorted at my predicament. Duo rolled his eyes. Trowa was gazing thoughtfully off into the distance at an ivory bridge that spanned a glowing ravine. Duo’s attention was pulled that way, too, like he and Tro were magnetically aligned.

“That… looks kind of like the bridge I crossed in the New York Dell,” Duo cautiously admitted. When he looked upward at the sky, so did I. And found myself mesmerized by softly swaying vines covered with color-shifting blossoms. There was a fucking garden above our heads. Well, that was par for the course in this place.

Duo spun around and frowned. “Stars,” he murmured and, glancing behind me, I saw it, too. A field of stars twinkling on the ground. And beyond that, another gushing waterfall. Laying on its side for no apparent reason at all. Ho hum di dum.

My brother told his husband, “Is there a reason why we’re here? This is the way I went when the Fates had shit to say.”

Trowa shook his head. “I refused the path back to Treize’s palace, and the one that leads to Nithlyn. Did you think of this place? As we fell?”

“I… shit. Sorry.”

Curling an arm around his companion, Trowa nudged Duo into his embrace. “It’s all right. We’ll take the falls back to--”

Where we’d be riding those rapids to I never got to hear. At that precise moment, Trowa’s entire body jerked. The breath was punched out of his lungs. I lunged forward, reaching for the fletching sticking out of his back, feathers quivering at the end of a protruding arrow shaft.

“Solo!” Wufei bellowed, clamping onto my arm hard. “Get down!”

Ironically, that was precisely what happened. Trowa, Duo, Wufei, and me. All of us were sucked down into the grass and through darkness. We spun, shoulders and knees knocking.

Down and around. Gasping. Dizzy and helpless. Until--

**_**SMACK!** _ **

“Fucking fuck all OW!” I complained, banging an elbow against what felt like a stone floor. Didn’t unclench my fistful of Wufei’s jacket, though. Just in case.

He shifted, struggled, almost rammed me in the family jewels. He growled. “Let me up.”

I tightened my grip.

He sighed. Cursed me in Chinese. One of my favorite bad names, too. Hey, being more stubborn than goat puke was a badge of honor.

Grinning stupidly, I reached my free hand out across the floor, groping until I found an ankle. “Duo? Trowa?”

“Jesus,” Duo wheezed. I heard the rustle of cloth. “Tro? You with me, baby? How deep is the arrow? Do you need me to pull it out?”

A long, slow inhale whispered in the gloom. Not from me or Wufei or Duo. “No,” Trowa answered at length. “It’s gone.”

“It’s--” I blinked. “Did you say ** _ **gone?”**_**

“Yes.”

Holy freakin’-- OK, so as welcome as that news was -- what the actual hell, damn it!?

But. I was distracted from all that by something else that was super duper welcome: light. The stone under us was starting to glow. Softly. Very softly.

“Any guesses as to where the hell we are?” I snarled, the waning adrenaline causing me to shift gears from anxious to cantankerous. Oh, yeah -- we were gettin’ the party started in here.

“A room,” Wufei declared. Smart ass.

“A windowless room,” Duo added.

I contributed: “With no fucking door.”

It was bright enough -- or perhaps my eyes had adjusted enough -- that I could gauge the dimensions of the space. About the size of a small bedroom but in the shape of a three-dimensional hexagon. Except there was nothing in it. Not a damn thing. Every surface had been hewn smooth. There was a single, square tile in the center of the floor that we’d landed on top of and at which Trowa was staring in total, horrified fascination.

Duo was insistently running his hands over his husband’s back -- the arrow was indeed gone and blood was nonexistent -- so Trowa ought to be fine. But he sure as shit wasn’t looking like it.

“Baby?” my little brother breathed, tucking himself against the quivering form of Trowa’s Silencer. “What is it? Talk to me, please.”

He didn’t talk. Not a word. He turned into his companion’s embrace and tucked his face against Duo’s neck. Like he was hiding from the design that had been carved in relief on that single tile. My brother sent a wide-eyed glance my way and, yeah, I seconded his anxiety. Wherever we were -- whatever that symbol meant -- it was bad. Really stupidly fucking BAD.

Trowa’s shaking hand petted Duo’s covered braid. “I love you.”

My mind blanked.

Duo’s didn’t. He leaned back, pressing his forehead against Trowa’s. “Tell me.” It was an order that his consort either couldn’t or didn’t refuse.

“We’ve--” His breath hitched. His lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly. “We’ve been death locked.”

I looked over at Wufei, who shook his head, brows beetled.

On a whisper, Duo asked for all of us, “What does that mean?”

“It means we are trapped here.”

“For how long?” I demanded.

Trowa lowered his head. “Until one of us dies.”

“Say--say what now?”

Wufei spun toward the faceted wall and started running his hands over it, searching for seams and crevasses. Seeking hidden pressure panels and a ray of fucking hope.

Duo petted Trowa’s hair and the fey lifted his head. Filling his lungs, he squared his shoulders and explained, “This is a fey prison. Designed for a single fey or a consort and companion.”

“Why?” Duo exhaled. “To starve us to death?”

“Were I alone, yes, that would be my fate.”

Already fucking sick of these half-assed answers, I cut in: “Well, you’re not alone. So how do we get the fuck outta here?”

Trowa tightened his arms around Duo and turned his blazing stare toward-- “Wufei.”

My lover’s hands slowed over the expanse of the third wall he was investigating. He paused. Turned. “We must find another way,” he intoned solemnly.

“There is no other way,” Trowa insisted.

Duo was clutching at the shoulders of his jumpsuit, shaking his head. “No. No way in fucking hell! We’ll wait this out.”

Now it was Trowa’s hands offering comfort, cradling Duo’s cheeks, corraling my brother’s frantic glare and trembling lower lip. “The longer we wait, the less chance you will have of escape.”

God damn it -- fey communication was as clear as mud. “Escape from what!?”

Deigning to look me in the eye, Trowa bit out, “If the consort dies first, the companion is released, yes, but only to serve as a sacrifice. In order to keep that from happening to you and Wufei, Duo will be forced to become the Sicarian. Here. Feyside.”

“So what!?” My shout bounced back at us, but it was Wufei’s quiet words that seemed loudest.

“Duo has sworn an oath to value human and fey life in equal measures.” Wufei said, “It would be a very bad idea for him to unleash his powers in fey lands. Not only will it destroy his credibility with the council, it could incite a war. Especially if his power destroys more than those presenting an immediate threat.”

“This is stupid,” I said because I didn’t want to hear it. Believe it. Deal with it.

“Trowa,” Duo garbled, breaths thin and fast, teeth clenched and eyes gleaming with either tears or the Sicarian. “I can’t let you do this.”

“I’m the only choice.”

Baffled, I threw my arms up and spun toward Wufei for a little fucking clarity--

And then froze. Watched Wufei reluctantly unsheathe his family’s sword.

No. Oh my God, no. Just--no.

The words were clinging to the back of my tongue, choking me. But when Wufei’s gaze met mine, I knew I wouldn’t be coughing them up. Couldn’t. I had to look at the situation objectively: one of us had to die in order for this cell to spit us out.

Duo couldn’t -- the Sicarian wouldn’t let that happen if someone else attacked him and the only way Duo was killing himself was over my dead body.

The same went for Wufei who was leaps and bounds ahead of me in this fey shit; he could read dozens of languages and hold his own in a fight. He was way more fucking useful than I was.

I was just the muscle. The overprotective big brother. But if I died--just the thought of it was--Jesus. I really didn’t want to buy the farm today. Not like this -- not as the result of some fucking fey scheme. And besides, what would my death do to Duo? We’d been each other’s only family for twelve damn years. And, suddenly, I wouldn’t be there anymore. Ever. Because once it was lights out for us humans, that was it. All she wrote. The end.

Trowa was right. It had to be him. Because he was fey. Because we could bring him back.

Assuming we’d be able to get our asses outta here in one piece.

Ah, damn it. Shit. Fucking hellfire and flaming balls of shit.

Exhaling, I crouched down beside my brother-in-law and put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell us how to get back.”

“Asshole!” It wasn’t enough of a warning; Duo’s clothed fist slammed into my face.

I tumbled onto the floor, arms windmilling, dazed because it felt a fuck of a lot more painful than it should have. I was pretty sure the blow had landed on my cheekbone, but I was feeling it in my forehead, nose, and jaw. The whole left side of my face felt like it’d been kicked in by a rampaging bull. Hot and pulsing and a strange numbing tingle. A wave of nausea. Something was broken.

How the hell?

Blinking up from the floor, I got my answer: Duo’s eyes were flashing silver as he struggled in Trowa’s arms, tried to fucking climb over the guy’s shoulder and give me seconds and thirds. Of course: the fucking Sicarian. Even covered in fey cloth, Duo had nearly caved my skull in.

He snarled. “You asshole! How could you!? How-- ** _ **how--”**_**

Trowa braced his entire bulk against my little brother’s rage, slipped soft shushes into his ear. “Be calm, my chosen. I need you to be calm.”

Duo grabbed for Trowa’s elbows, forehead thudding against the fey’s chest in abject misery. Wufei reached down a hand to help me up.

“I need you to hear me. Listen,” Trowa pleaded, waited for an answering nod, and then he told us what to do. Where to go. How to skirt dangerous and enemy terrain. The words that would see us past confrontations and into the safety of the council building.

“Repeat it back to me, Duo.” And when he refused, Trowa brought out the big guns, “Do this for your brother and your friend. Solo and Wufei need you to take them to safety.”

“This isn’t right. It should be you going and me… me staying--here.”

Pressing a heartfelt kiss to the center of Duo’s forehead, Trowa’s eyes squeezed shut. My heart twisted in my chest right along with Trowa’s as he unwillingly imagined it: Duo’s death.

For a long moment, no one spoke. No one **_**could**_** speak.

When Trowa pulled back, he said, “It must not be you. With your final breath, I will lose myself.”

Just like Wendola. Oh, God. Trowa, with his extraordinary healing abilities focused totally on the intent to cause damage, would tear the both of us to shreds.

Besides, I’d take my own life before Duo could do the deed. Under no circumstances would it be OK for my baby brother to fucking die on me. Just--NO.

“Permit this for their sake?” Trowa implored. “And for mine?” Fingers gently fussing at the fey cloth surrounding Duo’s face, his fey consort confessed, “I don’t want to become a monster. Not that kind.”

Duo didn’t say yes. No, of course not. But we all felt it deep down when he stopped saying no.

I dared to get close enough to rub Duo’s back. “This whole thing sucks,” I mumbled past my throbbing face. Fuck, it hurt to talk. “But this is our best option. Tro’s fey. We’ll take care of him. Won’t we?”

Duo didn’t answer, just clutched harder, his knuckles so far past white that his hands had to be cramping. His nails had to be gouging through the fey cloth of his gloves and the heavy jumpsuit fabric both.

Trowa lifted one hand and hovered his fingers over my cheek. Oh. Ooh, wow. Warmth and health and how could anything be wrong with the world when I felt so good and content?

And then Trowa pulled away, leaving me stunned. Damn. “Healing power” was right. And if Duo would just let his husband do that to him, then maybe we’d be able to get through this.

Smiling slightly at my dumbfounded expression, Trowa scrunched himself down and began to pry Duo’s gloved hands from the twisted clumps of his shirt. “You promised me,” he whispered. “Anything I needed. I need you to let me do this.”

Duo sucked in a breath. Shifted away with purpose. But then he pressed forward, shaking his head. “It’s no good. I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t.” Still smiling, the Silencer dissolved into my Tro-bro. The slender fey boy that I’d found shivering in the shadows of the forest, wrapped up in Duo’s jean jacket and clinging to my little brother’s arms. He undid the front of the jumpsuit and shrugged it down to his waist. “Take your gloves off, Duo.”

It only took a moment to sort ourselves out: Trowa kissed Duo as he tugged the gloves off; he lowered himself to his knees and turned so that Duo’s arms were wrapped around his waist from behind, his bare hands pressing against Trowa’s heart and Trowa’s fingers clutching them tightly. He nodded for me to stand opposite him. I tore my gaze away from the mess of green scars on his back and complied.

“Be ready,” he instructed, and even though he looked eighteen years young, I heard the general of the fey resistance in his tone.

I nodded.

Wufei touched Trowa’s shoulder in a wordless expression of solidarity. Then he paced off the distance he’d need. It’d take a lot of momentum for one clean slice.

Oh God. This was really happening. Had to happen. We had no choice.

Duo sobbed once. Pressed his forehead to the middle of his husband’s back… and out of the line of fire.

Trowa’s eyes closed. He bowed his head.

I reached out and threaded my fingers through my brother-in-law’s hair. Got a good grip.

Wufei paused. Our gazes met. I nodded.

And then he launched: stepped, leaped, and spun. Airborne.

The razor sharp edge of the sword blade gleamed in the soft, sourceless light, creating a seamless silver arc as it soared high…

…and plummeted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did that. That terrible, terrible thing. (But maybe you already suspected that I would… I mean, I make no secret of being a student of the “think of the worst possible thing you could put a particular character through and then DO THAT” school of writing.) Luckily, there’s a lot of story left. So you’ll be glad you stuck with it. Trust me. (^_^)
> 
> In the meantime, torment your feels with Trowa’s Song: “Never Let Me Go” by Florence + the Machine


	5. The Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Music I wrote to: “Paint It Black” cover by Hidden Citizens
> 
> (Comments by Duo’s Shinigami in parentheses)

The nightmare -- the one where my touch turns my husband into ash--

**_**This is how it comes true.** _ **

I never would have guessed.

Oh, God. I’d fought back and faced down this fear so many times. Daily. Hourly. That my head simply couldn’t compute what my senses were telling me. I’d told myself that the nightmare wasn’t real so many times that, now that it finally was--

(Real.)

I still-- I just… couldn’t.

The warm hands that pressed my palms to a warm chest--

(His skin was cool to the touch for so long.)

Crumbled. The torso I was wrapped around gave way, shifted and then poured like sand between my fingers. The strong spine beneath my cheek sank and cratered into a pothole of dust, but I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. Not if I was going to have any hope of getting us out of this fucking place. I couldn’t let myself see any of it or I’d lose it. I wouldn’t be able to deny it, to lie to myself, tell myself that Trowa was still here. Somewhere.

(Technically, he was.)

Too soon my arms were empty. Cold. Trowa’s warmth and the crackle of our opposing magics evaporated. I felt… human. **_**Less**_** than human. I felt like I was trying to keep a flimsy hospital gown from fluttering up past my knees while the nurse wheeled me down echoing, sterile corridors from one testing room to another. I felt shattered and stretched thin as I was poked and punctured and prodded and turned inside out. Scraped hollow.

Had the last five months even happened?

(So, what--you thought you dreamed it all? Right this second, you’re still asleep in your bed in Boston? Not a single houseplant in the whole fucking apartment?)

The sound of a zipper--

(Solo’s backpack. So useful.)

\--screamed in the silence. I sucked in a gasping breath along with it. Didn’t think about what my brother was putting inside it. I focused on the darkness behind my eyelids. The breeze. The weird fey rain -- water droplets that I’d once watched dancing and twirling into being out of thin air -- they were back for an encore: I could feel them collide with my numb skin, splashing over my left eyebrow and upon the tip of my nose.

(Cold. Like Trowa’s skin had been cold. Back in woods by Caerlaverock. A tree at your back and the promise of a kiss in your future.)

“OK, D,” Solo said a long minute later. His hand on my shoulder wasn’t the one I needed most. Wrong temperature. Wrong weight. Wrong. “Let’s go.”

I opened my eyes. The hillside welcomed me back. I leaned forward to run my fingers through the grass but a hand on my arm stopped me.

“Here,” Wufei prompted, holding out my gloves.

My gloves. Right. Because my touch was toxic here. Everything magical that I touched would turn to ash and dust and nothing.

(Had you really believed that you and Trowa would get to live happily ever after in peace and harmony? How hilarious.)

Tugging my gloves on, I stood. Instructions. Those were good. I could handle those. Step 1: stand up. Step 2…

I started for the sideways waterfall in the distance. It was just as mystifying now as the first time I’d seen it. I’d thought I was at the end of the line then, too.

(No, don’t start hoping. Not unless you’re ready to be pried open and apart. Focus!)

Solo and Wufei. The contents of Solo’s backpack. Right. I had to get them to safety. The way back was just--

“Well, well. This is a surprise.”

That snide drawl. My backbone stiffened.

(Déjà vu.)

I turned.

Professor G. The fucker had never looked happier.

(My, grandma, what sharp teeth you have.)

And beside him, Doctor J was just about hopping up and down in his excitement. “I know! I can’t believe my eyes!”

(If there _**were**_ any eyes on the other side of those periscope goggles.)

A happy sigh emerged from Instructor H’s shiny lips, his gelled moustache didn’t so much as shift. “I so love it when an idea bears fruit…”

(The other day, I saw a bear… out in the wood… out way out there…)

I’d taken two steps in their direction before hands clamped down on my arms. Solo and Wufei. Holding me back. I hadn’t even had to ask this time.

I almost told them to let me go. I almost said, “The offer’s expired.”

But I knew what happened to anyone and everyone who dared to stand up to these asshats: the Void. Wasn’t so sure if that was where I’d end up, being human and all, and today didn’t seem like the day for testing it.

(Maybe tomorrow. Or some other day ending in “y.”)

“You did this,” I mouthed in near silence. I didn’t have the breath to yell or shout or snarl; I was on the verge of exploding out of my own skin. I was past rage. Beyond grief. I was the eye of the infinite storm.

(Did anyone happen to check today’s weather forecast?)

“You all,” I repeated, the words more vibration than audible sound, “did this.”

“We did,” J readily confessed. “And what a surprise that the Healer succumbed.”

H pouted, “So quickly, too.”

G rolled his eyes. “That might have had something to do with the hunter’s sword.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” J concurred brightly.

“Sarcasm, J.”

J twittered. “Very well done it was, too, G.”

H frowned. “But why did the death lock take the mundane humans as well? **_**My**_** target was the Healer and his companion,” he accused his cohorts.

“As was mine,” G offered while J’s head bobbled in agreement.

“It is a puzzle!” the bionic’ed shit said.

“An issue for later!” G prioritized with a pompous wave of his hand. “First, to business. Reaper,” he addressed me, “I think you’ll find that our demands are reasonable.”

A squeaky giggle emerged from H. “If you’ll recall, I told you not to speak so rashly, my Sicarian.”

“Fuck off,” I told them and pivoted back toward our intended path.

“How interested do you think the masters would be,” H continued, “were Dorothy of the Catalonia Dell to learn that the right to resurrect the Healer is up for sale?”

No. No, these talking piles of shit did not just--

“Ah--ah--ah!” H gleefully chided, wagging a finger at me as, once again, Solo and Wufei grabbed on and dug in. I jerked forward an inch, teeth bared as I strained closer. Another inch.

“Jesus, put your back into it, Wu!” Solo bitched.

Wufei grunted something intelligible.

“We merely require your compliance,” G announced, sticking his pointy nose high in the air and squinting at me from under his ridiculous mushroom haircut. “Full compliance. By the Sicarian.”

“Compliance?” I hissed, sickened.

“Uh hmm,” J concurred with delight. “Wouldn’t you enjoy working for us, young Reaper? Aren’t you curious as to what we could accomplish together? Why, it’s never even been tried before!!”

“No. I am not. Not even the slightest bit curious.” Oddly, that seemed to offend him.

“You’d do well to consider our bargain,” H singsonged. “Lest your consort be summoned and enslaved by another of his enemies.”

G hummed. “There are quite a few to choose from.”

“None will dare cross me.” Fuck the vow. I was the Sicarian, damn it. I had been made for ending fey. It was time I embraced it. Long past time.

J argued, “But many would be intrigued by the opportunity to strike a bargain with Shinigami. Oh, I do wonder what you would pay for the return of your consort!”

I grinned hard enough to set my jaw aching. “Keep right on wondering, asshole. I’ve got no reason to negotiate with them or you.”

With a roll of his piggy little eyes, H dismissed my assertion: “You cannot refuse to negotiate. This is--”

“This looks fun!” a new, but unfortunately familiar, voice chirped. “Are we having a gathering?”

My teeth gnashed together, but I refused to curse. Or squeeze my eyes shut. Because.

(Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…)

Quatre Fucking Winner.

The son of a bitch was here. Now. With two massive fey in tow and a female fey (that looked a helluvalot like Hilde) matching his strides.

(Well, this just keeps getting better and better!)

“Walk away, Duo Maxwell,” Quatre dared to advise me in a quiet tone as soon as he drew within range.

I gaped at him as he actually stepped out in front to meet the philosophers head on. Interestingly, his goons both decided to hang back. For all intents and purposes, it looked like Winner was on his own. Three against one.

“You are trespassing,” he declared fearlessly.

G scoffed. “There is no trespass being committed here!”

“Is that so?” Winner challenged and I could just about hear the skeptically arched brow in his tone. “Because fey do not attempt bargains with soul-shaders in our homeland, and I’m not flattering myself when I say that I know a fey bargain when I hear one. Which means you three acknowledge that Duo Maxwell is a child of magic and, as such, is permitted solitude and solace in the wake of a joined partner’s passing.” Hands on his hips, Winner concluded, “You trespass.”

J shifted guiltily.

G sniffed but didn’t protest again.

H blustered, “How dare you speak to us in this manner!”

“Well, if you behaved according to our laws, no one would feel compelled to.”

Shit. I was this God damn close to liking the manipulative jerkwad.

J hummed, intrigued. “Do I sense an alliance here, Winner? Between yourself and Shinigami?”

H muttered unhappily, “A commendable move.”

“Quite exceeding expectations,” J congratulated.

I couldn’t see Winner’s face, but I heard his low rumble. “When did the three of you cease looking beyond your own petty amusements? You served our people once. Now you would see them served to one another upon platters!”

Batting impatiently at the air in a hilariously ineffectual attempt to intimidate they very fey they’d made into the ultimate manipulator, H hissed, “The bargain has been voiced; your arrival changes nothing. Step aside and permit the Sicarian to give us his answer.”

“You want an answer?” I interjected, lip curling up into a sneer. “Here it is: go fuck one another on a pile of bones; may one spear you through the fucking nerve cluster under your dead-ass heart. Feykin style.”

G huffed. Crossing his arms, he complained, “H, your little pet project is being unreasonable.”

“Well, I don’t see how I’m to blame for that. They do have minds of their own.” He cocked his head and added with a quick, evaluating glance at Winner, “From time to time.”

“Speaking of time,” J drawled, speculation nudging shame aside, “perhaps that’s what this one needs.” He nodded my way.

G looked impressed by his cohort’s suggestion. “Yes. Quite right. Well done, J.”

“My pleasure, G.”

“Run along home,” H invited with a shooing motion of his plump, pale hands. “Go on and seek counsel from whomever you wish. Ours is the only way you’ll ever see Trowa again.”

I was going to have bruises what with how hard my brother and Chang were holding on.

(Battle scars would have been cooler.)

And then the philosophers performed a pirouette, a stomp, and bow respectively, disappearing from sight.

(Or were they still hanging around somehow… watching like a trio of creepers?)

A tug on my throbbing right arm. “Duo. We gotta go. C’mon.”

Right. Because the price of our freedom from that fucking fey prison cell had been high enough. If we dicked around here and ended up in a jam that we couldn’t talk our way out of, then all that would be for nothing.

I spun around and glared at the goons. “Who are you?”

“Rashid,” the burlier of the two said, age shifting before I could demand it.

The second, tall and slender with a certain devil-may-care charm, also performed the formality. “Abdul!” He scooped out a low bow to Solo and Wufei. “Greetings to worthy opponents.”

Rashid grunted unpleasantly.

What a fun reunion this was turning out to be.

“Now you, Winner,” Solo demanded. “Time to prove you are who you say you are.”

“Of course.” He shifted younger until he was no more than fifteen years old. Fresh-faced. Innocent. Disarming.

(Where the fuck is a feykin when you need one?)

“Shinigami,” Hilde inflected with odd formality, “I’ve come to bring you, your brother, and the clansman back to Fairyland.”

“You knew,” I accused.

She shook her head and then anticipated my next concern: holding my gaze, she shifted, proving her identity, before saying, “Winner called me when he felt the four of you enter his territory. I was hoping I’d be in time to provide backup.”

(Why did you think we’d need backup? And, by the way, what took you so long to get here, damn it?)

Her gaze drifted toward Solo’s bulging, black backpack and saddened.

I ordered, “Mock him.”

She blinked. “I have your permission?”

“Hell yes.”

“Do it, Hilde,” Winner said. “The last thing the fey world needs right now is to learn they’ve lost their Healer **_**again.”**_**

Yeah. Not just because he was the leader of the resistance, but because the fey probably thought he had the Sicarian on a leash. An impression that Trowa and I had gone to a fuck ton of effort to give back at Niagara.

(Also showed them who’s got the Silencer wrapped around his little finger, though, didn’t ya?)

“Shut up,” I breathed through gritted teeth at myself. It’d been for a good fucking cause.

(Sure. Heero looked real happy to see you guys in Switzerland.)

“Your point?” I asked in silence.

(Good intentions don’t do shit for you. Just saying.)

I argued back: **_**You’re wrong.**_**

(Am I? Trowa’s dead because he decided to be a pal and look in on a friend. You do the fucking math, moron.)

It was marginally less painful to watch Hilde’s form and face melt into Trowa’s, so I focused on that instead of trying to have the last word against my own damn self.

The last time I’d seen this particular parlor trick, it had kicked off a chain reaction of pure panic. This time, it drove my heart so deep into my own chest that it twisted into a black hole. Forever falling in on itself and sucking whatever was left of me with it because, yeah, I was looking at **_**my**_** Trowa -- there was a scar on his left cheek and a spiderweb of old, torn skin on his right hand. Having met the real Silencer for myself, it was easy to spot the differences.

“This way, boys,” Hilde-Trowa invited, setting off for the sideways waterfall, and I just followed along. All of us did. Like ducks in a row.

“Gonna need to work on your choice of words there,” Solo criticized.

“Hmm,” not-Trowa answered and I was glad she-he just let it go there. The last thing I needed was the sound of my husband’s voice shaping Hilde’s words while Solo tried to micromanage every damn thing.

(A little late for that now.)

Quatre, Abdul, and Rashid accompanied us uninvited, our footsteps whispering over lush fey grass up to that impossible flow of water. Hilde-Trowa pointed to the stone that had been carved with the fey rune that we’d been told to look for. Wufei gave my shoulder a squeeze and then took up his previous position at the Silencer’s flank. Solo moved up to my right.

Into the water we went.

Perfectly dry we emerged.

There was no sign of Treize’s palace. This was a city. A fey marketplace. Silk-clad and naked fey forms milling about in a bright cacophony. Fluttering fabrics and crafts made from polished bone. Supple leathers and caged fey creatures that didn’t pace so much as spin and whirl with impatience in their prisons.

Apart from the crowd that churned in the large hallow, a line of humans stood, guarded by fearsome manticore-like beasts. Maybe the same breed as Midi’s security detail. I tried not to stare as a child-aged fey presented herself to the humans. She smiled shyly at a girl of no more than ten years old, who smiled back.

Solo saw it, too: “I thought the whole selecting of a companion business was controlled by the masters.”

“It used to be,” Winner confirmed, “but this place is under my protection.”

(And Trowa had told you guys to go here **_**why?)**_**

The best of all available choices, I concluded. In a place where everyone was my enemy, only Winner had verbally indicated a desire for an alliance. Trowa had probably been banking on that, hoping it would buy us safe passage.

Wufei scanned the crowd as we skirted the edges. “It didn’t take long for enterprising fey to begin taking human captives.”

“These humans have been culled from miserable circumstances,” Winner insisted. Glancing toward Solo, he said, “From what I’ve learned, those with neither allies nor reason to live, are rarely well cared for humanway. These--” He gestured to the gathering as the human girl accepted the female fey’s hand. “--are rescues.”

“And your fey get first dibs,” Solo muttered, admirably determined to find fault with the enterprise.

Winner shrugged a shoulder. “Although I am aware of who crosses into my domain and when, I do not regulate passage or exact a toll.”

But I was pretty damn sure something was tacitly given in exchange: a vow of alliance or a future favor. Now seemed like a good time for a reminder: “None of us owe you shit for this.”

He looked amused by my assertion. “I would never presume. I’m merely following your advice, freely given, to act in accordance with the spirit of our alliance.” He gestured to the left. “Turn here. It’s just a short hop.”

Indeed it was. The instant we faced left, a low barrier rolled toward our feet -- like a log on its way downhill. We hopped.

And found ourselves inside the foyer of Winner’s Boston home. The painting of Dekim and Mariemaia was still there.

What was the point of keeping it?

(Bragging rights.)

Oh. Of course. This mansion was his prize and the fall of those fey masters was his fucking trophy.

(At least the slimy eel hasn’t changed all that much.)

“Sir,” Rashid deferentially muttered, interrupting his employer’s trajectory across the entry space. “Is this the time to present our acquisitions?”

“Perhaps.” Coming to a halt, Winner spun on his heel and and said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news: you’ve been evicted from your previous apartment.”

“Say what?” Solo sputtered.

I glared. “You never apologized for killing our parents, but you’re sorry for **_**this?”**_**

With a helpless look, he answered, “Material possessions are equally important to fey.”

“Friends -- not so much.”

“Yes,” he replied bluntly enough for it to be the truth.

The sound of a door opening drew our attention to what appeared to be a coat closet tucked along the far side of the foyer. “We took the liberty of boxing up everything.”

So they had.

(Seeing is believing.)

“Where would you like your things sent?” Winner compassionately inquired.

I could not deal with this right now.

Solo, however, could and did: “Hilde, any problems with this stuff heading for your turf in Las Vegas?”

“None. It’ll be sorted immediately.” She-as-Trowa turned a formidable glare on Winner. “Now if you would show us to the portal? A route to the council would be preferable.”

“Of course.”

As he started moving again, Solo bumped my elbow. “How do we know he and his goons are gonna keep their mouths shut about all this?”

All this.

(The passenger in your bro’s backpack.)

“We don’t,” Wufei answered, taking the words right out of my mouth.

Winner said over his shoulder, “I regret that I cannot perform the summoning for your consort. I’m not a master.”

“What has that to do with anything?” Wufei was quick to investigate.

Winner blinked. “You mean you do not know? Well…” For a moment, he seemed to flounder. Many men as prideful as Chang Wufei would have flushed, but not the dude on my left flank. Winner explained, “The masters are so called for their ability to manipulate the latent magic of their lands. So much raw power -- it’s inaccessible to most fey -- but totally necessary when performing a summoning.” His gaze flicked toward Solo’s backpack. “Whoever you choose to do the honors will demand a high price indeed. You may wish to consider the alliance that the philosophers proposed.”

Solo grimaced even as I felt my face blank with shock.

“I am sorry, but facts are facts,” Winner concluded. “No fey dares to cross the philosophers. Counting them among your allies could only strengthen your position. Both yours and Trowa’s.”

“Call me crazy,” Solo jibed, “but I’m not inclined to trust a bunch of slimebags who’ve already stabbed us in the back.”

“Whyever not?” Winner genuinely questioned. “They’ve demonstrated their capabilities. Would you not prefer that those skillful efforts be directed at your enemies?”

(Holy shit.)

Yeah, that… actually made sense. The fey version of common sense.

“The portal,” Winner announced, showing us into a private office. With the circular rug on the floor -- fey runes woven into its design -- and a curtain of bone beads bisecting it, it could have been the mirror of the one in Nithlyn.

(Had yourself some head trouble then, too, ey?)

“Hilde-- ** _ **Trowa,”**_** I corrected myself. “You and Wufei go first. Solo and I will be thirty seconds behind you.”

“Roger,” the mock said. With a glance at Wufei for confirmation, they parted the curtain and swung through.

“I must say,” Winner murmured as the first of those aforementioned thirty seconds ticked off, “you are quite the artist, Duo Maxwell.”

“Huh?”

His brows arched. “The drawings in the room you shared with your consort. The ones upon the back of the door in particular were beautifully rendered.”

“Trowa drew those. He drew all of them.”

Winner blinked, more startled than I’d ever seen him. “Did he?”

I nodded, fisting my hands. I could **_**feel**_** the sharpening of Solo’s curiosity.

Our guide seemed to shrink in upon himself. “I never would have guessed. Trowa -- the way he sees you -- it’s breathtaking.”

“He loves me,” I explained, returning the favor of providing information so basic it should have been fucking obvious. “And I love him.”

“Love…” Winner shook his head. To him, it was just a word. A single syllable meant to indicate preference or desire. I pitied him.

(Sure, sure. You hear the sad, violin solo I’m playing for the asshole?)

With a bemused smile, he said, “I never knew it was possible.”

Seriously? Hadn’t he met Heero and Sylvia? I told him, “I’m pretty sure Maureen -- Darlian’s companion -- could shed some light on it for you.”

That surprised him.

(Today seems to be the day for ‘em.)

Straightening his shoulders, Winner vowed, “If I can be of assistance in resurrecting your consort, do not hesitate to call upon me. I count myself with you and yours, Duo Maxwell.”

A beat of silence thrummed in the small room.

“Thirty seconds are up,” Solo pointed out and it was time to go.

We mimicked Hilde and Wufei, passing through the beaded curtain--

\--and finding ourselves inside a darkened pod. I sensed movement: the walls were rotating. I braced myself for the archway to slide open.

A moment later, it did. Hilde-Trowa and Wufei were waiting. An older man -- sixty if he was a day -- was standing with them.

“This is Mister Pargan,” Hilde-Trowa introduced blandly enough to be mistaken for my consort. “One of the old guard. He now advises your friend Relena.”

I offered to shake hands. “A pleasure, sir.”

“The pleasure is mine, Shinigami. A brave vow you made. May fate kindly never tempt you to break it.”

(A day late and a dollar short, pal.)

I nodded and, maybe it was rude of me to be in a rush, but… fuck it. I was. “Can you have the portal for Fairyland in Las Vegas dialed up?”

He waved toward the sphere of interconnected pods behind us. “Ready and waiting.”

“Thank you,” Hilde-Trowa said and all of us performed an about-face. Same deal as before: Solo and I hung back for the second trip. Thirty seconds later, we were riding it.

“Duo,” my brother breathed in the dark, grinding privacy of the portal. “What are we gonna do about…?”

“Cathy.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right. She’ll fix this. I mean, she owes you, right?”

I nodded.

Cathy was waiting right where I’d last seen her. Only, this time, she didn’t look relieved to see us. “Did you cross paths with Hilde? She went in after you--”

“Hey.” Solo cut her off with a slow wave. “Can we move this party upstairs? I bet the node’s pretty private, yeah?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

So up we went. There were stairs. We took them. It was both better and worse than riding the elevator. Better because the activity burned away some of the teeth-gnashing impatience. Worse because the extra time taken just generated more. So I crossed the threshold no better off than I had been. No worse off, either.

(Not like Trowa.)

So I guess I couldn’t complain.

“OK, we’re here.” Cathy fretted, “What’s going on?”

My jaw was glued shut.

Solo shifted, gaze flitting from me to Wufei.

Wufei’s eyes were lowered, chin tucked down.

The answer came from our fey guide. Trowa’s face and form melted and morphed away, revealing Hilde.

“Oh dear Fates,” Cathy breathed. She looked horrified, so I figured she got her answer.

Solo shrugged out of the backpack straps and held it out. “Gonna need you to do your thing. Bring him back to us.”

She stared at the head-sized bulge of the bag, slowly shaking her head. “I can’t.”

Wufei snapped to attention. “You mean you won’t.”

As he took a menacing step forward, Cathy raised both hands. “I mean, I can’t. Not alone.”

“Then call whoever you need and get their ass in here,” Solo reasoned.

Cathy was panting, holding onto her wits by the skin of her teeth.

(Or maybe by the skin wedged between her fey fangs?)

“Not helping,” I chided silently. But actually, it was. It was helping a whole fucking lot to have something else besides the lost look in the Weaver’s blue eyes to focus on.

“Duo…” she begged. Begged. That was how I knew what she was about to say was gonna be the fucking epic worst. She was begging me not to let the Sicarian eat her soul for lunch.

(More like a midnight snack, given the time.)

I growled.

She swallowed, visibly pushed through her fear, and confessed, “I spoke no lies earlier. There is a way to resurrect fey without the need for either a master or a sacrifice, but…” She licked her dry lips. “We need the Healer.”

I blinked.

Solo rasped, “Say what?”

“Explain,” Wufei demanded, probably thinking he was smart enough to find a loophole that the fey had missed.

(Yeah, right.)

Gaze still trained on me, she pointed to the stone-hewn cauldron and its surrounding pots. “The head is placed there, and then blood must be given and given **_**freely.**_** All of the blood that a single fey possesses must be shed. The ceremony requires nine volunteers. I weave their magics together to create one source. The Healer keeps them alive long enough to complete the offering. Without him, this will cost that number of lives.”

Solo shrugged. “So, you and Trowa will be able to bring them all back just as soon as he’s, y’know, here.”

Hilde sighed out a long breath. “Damn it.”

Cathy protested: “This goes beyond simple logistics.”

Hilde burrowed a hand into her own short, spiky hair. “Setting aside the daunting task of convincing nine fey to forfeit their lives -- even for a favor from the Silencer -- you made a vow, Duo.”

Solo was just as confused as I was, but he could speak without screaming. So I let him take point in this conversation. “What’s the big deal? Won’t be the first promise ever broken. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Duo,” Cathy warned me, “I strongly urge you not to go back on your word.”

Hilde nodded. “Actually, I’m pretty sure Trowa would vivisect the both of us if we let you.”

“Are you referring to consequences?” Wufei badgered.

“Yes. A broken vow carries a heavy penalty. One that Duo will have to bear for the remainder of his existence.”

“Like what!?” This time, Solo nearly did my screaming for me.

“Trowa’s scars,” someone said, and I sucked in a deep breath when I realized that that someone had been me. “He broke his vow to procure sacrifices for Quinze. Twice.” I looked at Solo and Wufei. “You guys have seen his back. I was there when it happened the second time. When the magic carved him up.”

(Well, whadaya know. Quinze and H are kinda sorta off the hook for that one.)

But I was happily holding a grudge for all the rest of it.

“That--that won’t happen to you,” Solo managed to grit out past the frog in his throat. “Can’t. If you’re attacked, it’ll just bounce back. Right?”

Wufei frowned mightily. “And what if it does? What will the Sicarian destroy in recompense?” He put both Hilde’s and Cathy’s terror into words: “Were the latent magic of the fey lands to receive the brunt of the Sicarian’s counterattack…?”

Would it obliterate the fey lands themselves? Or take it one step further and destroy the latent magic that their entire world depended on? Anything and everyone connected to it? Where would the devastation end?

(Wow. When you fuck up, you do it with fireworks and a seventy-six trombone parade.)

Yeah. Couldn’t argue with that.

But.

I asked Cathy, “You need a healer?”

She nodded tightly. “Yes.”

“Then call the others. The volunteers. Get everything ready.”

“But--”

“This is happening.”

Brows beetled. Befuddlement radiated from everyone in the room.

“Hilde,” I said, “gonna need an escort. You up for it?”

“Of course.”

I turned away before she pulled Trowa’s form back into sight. I headed for the landing as Cathy held out her hands for the backpack.

“Here,” she urged tiredly. “I’ve a safe place for him.”

I wished I could stalk up to our floor two steps ahead of the fey that looked like my consort so I wouldn’t have to see him. Wouldn’t have to breathe around the trident impaling my chest. But anyone we encountered would question it because these were the general’s people and I was the companion, here. If I didn’t let him step up, then shit was going to get even more complicated.

So I fell back. Walked without touching the familiar figure at my side. The fey that we did pass as we stepped into the elevator looked curious, but not calculating.

Hilde-Trowa hit the button for the twentieth floor.

“Come inside with me,” I said before the green-eyed, evaluating stare could slice me open.

(Like you’re not already losing metaphorical pints.)

Hence the effort to conserve a little dignity.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” my husband’s voice said. “I doubt you’ll encounter anyone in the corridor. Most of those rooms on that level are unoccupied.”

Sifting through the seemingly disjointed statements, I realized: “You think I’ll attack you.”

“I’ve seen companions pushed beyond their limits before. You’re a lot more dangerous than they could’ve ever hoped to be.”

And here it was again: the assumption that I would want to be dangerous to others. Something no sane, civilized human being would seriously crave.

I took a deep breath. Watched the room numbers climb on the polished display. “I need your help too much to harm you, Hilde.”

With a carrot like that, I didn’t even bother with a sidelong glance to check if she’d taken the bait. Of course she had. Shinigami needed her. She was caught in the maw of her own curiosity and ambition.

The elevator slowed. Stopped. The doors opened in silence. Hilde-Trowa followed me to the door of our--my apartment suite. I yanked the keycard out from the inside of my boot. The palm scanner beside the door lit up. I peeled my right glove off with my teeth and slapped my hand on the screen.

The door unlocked.

I crossed the threshold. Hilde followed me, unmocking my husband the moment the door shut behind her.

“Wait here.”

I went to the bedroom. Rifled through my bag. Pulled out a sock ball of orange and green yarn. Tore the knot open and upended both. Two wedding bands tumbled out, winking in the soft light as they bounced on the surface of the bed. I scooped them up.

By the time I’d made it back to the entryway, I’d figured out what I needed to say to Hilde:

“There is another healer. The Silencer.”

She shook her head. “Your consort--”

“No. The healer before him. The Silencer you swore an oath of loyalty to.”

She gawped. “What?”

“I saw it -- on the battlefield. He healed you and you vowed yourself into his service. He’s still out there.”

“No, he’s--he’s in the Void.”

I nodded. Opened my hands so that she could see the rings resting one in each palm. “I know how to get us there.”

“That won’t work. Not unless…”

A grim smile stretched my lips. “Unless one of these rings came into contact with his blood? It did. And it will work.” I asked, “How badly does the fey resistance need its Healer general?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. She knew the answer to that. So did Heero and Sylvia. So did every fey who would ever stand in opposition to the control exerted by the masters.

(Bring it down the homestretch, D.)

“How much of a debt do you personally owe the Silencer?”

I didn’t expect an answer, so I was surprised when she countered: “Do you know the average life expectancy of a mock?”

I didn’t. When I shook my head, she told me with a sad smile, “Less than ten years. My kind are used until we make a mistake that costs us our lives. It’s usually the first, last, and only.” With a commiserating tilt of her head, “That’s why, even though I’m free to, I’ve never taken a companion. There’s only one way I ever could.”

If the Silencer were alive, offering her protection? No. No, even when he had been alive, she hadn’t relaxed her guard.

(Peace. That’s what she’s waiting for.)

Right. A world without masters who constantly vied for power. A world that was stable and safe.

(Sounds boring.)

It sounded impossible. But then, a soul-destroying weapon had sounded pretty “out there,” too.

(And just look at you now, big D.)

D -- for destruction. Yeah, OK. If the Sicarian was possible, then maybe someday Hilde would feel safe enough to care for a human companion. Maybe she’d **_**be**_** safe enough.

Lowering her gaze to the ring in my right hand -- Trowa’s ring -- she rallied. “OK, boss. How’re we gonna do this?”

Stepping aside, I invited, “Make yourself comfortable.”

She settled herself on the sofa. I headed back into the bedroom, rifled through Trowa’s things and found a second jumpsuit. Underwear and undershirt. Scooped up his spare boots. Dumped the clothes on the couch cushion next to Hilde.

“You might want to mock him before we get started.”

She nodded and I faced away as her dark hair lengthened and lightened. I cleared my throat and held out Trowa’s ring to her with my gloved left hand. The slight pressure of her touch as she took it, fingers the same size and weight and warmth as Trowa’s brushing the fey cloth--Jesus.

(Keep it together, D.)

Tugging my left glove off, I slid my ring onto my own finger. “We gotta be asleep for this to happen.”

“Not a problem,” she-he said in my lover’s voice. Sounded tired. After the day we’d all had, it was no wonder.

I checked that the doors were locked -- both the front and the one connecting this apartment to the one next door -- then I shut off my phone. I shut off Trowa’s phone. I unplugged the landline.

I didn’t bother to turn off the lights in the bedroom. Didn’t do more than shove my bag out of the way before flopping back onto the mattress across the foot of the bed. Stared up at the ceiling.

(It’s not gonna work if you don’t close your eyes, genius.)

But what guarantee did I have that I wouldn’t be back in that cell, death-locked and feeling Trowa disintegrate all over again in my arms?

(Maybe that’s price you gotta pay.)

Well. OK, then. If it was, then I’d pay it.

Sucking in a steadying breath, I shut my eyes. Tears squeezed out and streaked across my skin. More followed as the memory surged over me time and time again like the tide--

The way he’d burrowed into my embrace as soon as he’d figured it out. Jesus, but he’d only allowed himself ten fucking seconds -- if that -- to react and grieve before he’d sucked it up and--

**_**“There is no other way.”** _ **

Not a tear. Not a single tear. Because fey don’t cry when they’re sad or in pain.

**_**“I’m the only choice.”** _ **

How unfair that the decision had been made for us. No choice. It was pretty much the same thing as no free will. Sonuvabitch those asshole philosophers--

**_**“Be calm, my chosen. I need you to be calm.”** _ **

No, I won’t. I won’t. Never again, Goddamn it.

**_**“I need you to hear me. Listen.”** _ **

But as soon as I did, I started falling. The pain. The emptiness. I was being devoured.

I struggled, my fingers curling into the bedspread. If Solo and Wufei had been here, I’d have clung to them instead.

**_**“Permit this for their sake? And for mine?”** _ **

Give me one damn reason!

**_**“I don’t want to become a monster. Not that kind.”** _ **

Doesn’t matter. I’d love you no matter what, you idiot.

**_**“You promised me: anything I needed. I need you to let me do this.”** _ **

And that, right there, I couldn’t argue with. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t stop myself from giving in…

The sensation of cooling tear tracks faded. I forgot to clutch my breath in my chest. The darkness wasn’t a choice. It was an absence of resistance, of sensation. There was no warning and then--

“How did this happen?”

I gasped at the sound of the Silencer’s dispassionate demand. He pulled his hand away from the revived fey sprawled amid splatters of dark green blood upon the stone floor. Still crouched, he waited for an answer to his question.

“I succumbed to slumber,” the fey choked out, her eyes glancing away, toward the sounds of rending flesh and rabid snarls. “Can you save him?”

“No. The companion is dead.” The Silencer held out a hand and urged the fey to her feet. “Go. Rest. I will stay.”

She didn’t apologize. It was a miracle that the weight of her mistake allowed her to stand -- to breathe -- at all. My gaze followed her as she crept from the room. The door quietly grumbled shut.

A low growl. A warning. A promise of pain.

I looked toward the Silencer, who merely murmured, “Have what you can of her.”

And then he watched as those terrible, stomach-churning sounds began anew. Vigorous slashes. The dull clatter of joints striking the stone floor. The soft, wet splatter of blood.

He didn’t do a thing to stop what was happening just a couple of feet behind me. He just… watched. No expression at all on his unscarred face. I had to turn away--

“Don’t,” Hilde warned in her own voice. “Don’t look.”

“This is a node,” I said instead. “Why’s there a feral fey in here?”

“We are all feral when we first emerge from summoning.”

“And his companion?”

“Insisted on being present. The summoned took the guard by surprise and attacked.” I could sense her helpless shrug. “It happens.”

“Why?” How?

“There’s no higher thought. No control. Only the wanting. The hunger. Violence. As humans say, it’s our default setting.”

I forced a swallow, forced my eyes open and found the Silencer regarding me.

“Take a big step back,” he instructed and I did.

Let out a long breath as the fresh scent of a frosty pine forest washed over me. Crisp and cleansing. A forest in deep winter. I had no idea where this place was and I didn’t care. The scent of death and sounds of feasting disappeared; the carnage was gone.

“I did not expect to see you again,” the Silencer remarked blandly, to me or Hilde or both of us.

He was looking at me, though, so I said, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“If I were your consort, I would be very displeased.”

(Ouch. Burn.)

Yeah. Ironic much?

The Silencer’s eyes narrowed. “Especially considering the very thorough shielding he provided you.”

(Now that sounds an awful lot like the voice of experience talking.)

I challenged: “You tried to break into my mind?”

“Of course. I was curious as to his level of competence.”

“I take it he met with your approval?”

“Until this moment, yes.” His lips quirked. “Will you tell me your consort’s name this time?”

I snorted. “Like you don’t already know who he is.” Hell, he’d probably figured it out the moment he’d clocked the fey cloth I’d been dressed in. The whole Healer-Sicarian deal seemed to be an open secret among the fey and if anyone had been in the know, it was this dude right here.

His smile sent shivers down my spine. Cold ones. Because this soulless amusement was wrong. So fucking wrong.

“Yes. Knowing what you are, I am aware of whom your consort must be.” His lashes lowered and I wondered -- if he’d held my gaze, would I have seen anger in his eyes? Or betrayal?

(Victory?)

But that made no sense. No sense at all.

“Hilde,” he said, turning his attention to the fey a half step behind me. “What brings you here?”

(What a loaded question.)

She answered evenly, “My debts to you.”

“I require no payment.”

When she tensed, I jumped in. “What about an opportunity?”

His brow hitched up with interest.

I mentioned, “The fey could use your talents.”

“I am confined to the Void.”

“Unless someone offers you a way out,” I insisted, which brought us back around to…

“Hilde.” He didn’t ask just what she thought she was doing here. He’d already figured that out: she was the willing sacrifice. The vessel he would need in order to go back to the real world, to time itself, where all the action was happening. He questioned her: “Are you being coerced into agreeing to this?”

“No. Not that I’m completely comfortable with the prospect of total possession, but I trust you not to overstay your welcome.”

That seemed to tickle his funny bone. He looked almost amused. To me, he inquired, “The duration of my stay?”

“A summoning. For a fey that I will indicate.”

He surmised, “Cathy has been freed.”

I gaped at the softening of his expression. I nodded. “Yeah, I told you I’d take care of it. I did. She’s with the resistance again. Winner’s behaving himself… so far. The council’s starting back up.”

“And you are offering me the opportunity to witness these things for myself.”

Hilde disagreed. “Gonna need the Silencer to stay in Fairyland until the agreed upon summoning is concluded.”

“Understood.” He paused, and then, amazingly, gave Hilde one more chance to back out: “If you are certain you are prepared to do this?”

(Interesting choice of words.)

Yeah. He hadn’t asked if she were willing -- what fey would be when faced with total possession by another? -- but **_**prepared…**_**

I sensed her brisk nod. “Just… just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

A puff of breath that could have been a bark of laughter plumed in the wintery air. “So be it.” Swiveling his gaze my way, the Silencer drawled, “If all are in agreement?”

For the sake of clarity, I laid out the terms: “One successful summoning for a fey of my choosing, to be initiated immediately; you will remain in Fairyland until its successful completion; you won’t give us any resistance when it’s time for you to leave.” I asked the fey who was faintly trembling just out of the corner of my eye, “Hilde? You still good with this?”

“Well, let’s put it this way: I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

Whether she meant that she was doing this for me or the Silencer… or the fey resistance as a whole, I had no way of knowing. Not unless I asked. And, honestly, I didn’t really care who she was doing it for so long as it was gonna get done.

The former general of the fey resistance nodded once. “In that case, all we require now is for the Sicarian to awaken.” The Silencer moved toward Hilde and put out his hand. She held still and stiff as his fingers hovered above her brow. “Lead the way, Reaper of Fey, and I will follow.”

**_**BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!** _ **

“DUO!” came a barely muffled bellow. “OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME MOTHERFUCKER I’M GONNA FIND MYSELF A GODDAMN CHAINSAW AND--”

Oh, hell. I groaned up at the bedroom ceiling and slapped both hands over my eyes. Sonuvabitch that fried Jesus’ chicken.

“Would you like me to answer that?”

I froze. My gloved hands dropped to my sides. I sat up, glanced over and, yup, standing in the doorway was the fucking Silencer. The green eye that I could see examined me with mercenary thoroughness. Not quite cold because there was a spark in there somewhere -- a fey waiting for an opening to exploit -- but no warmth whatsoever.

God. I missed Trowa so fucking much and it hadn’t even been an hour since--

**_**BANG!** _ **

Solo had graduated up to kicking the dividing door. The moron.

“I’M COMING IN ON THE COUNT OF TEN, ASSHOLE! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE AND IF YOU’VE DONE ANYTHING STUPID I’M GONNA HANG YOU UP BY YOUR SKINNY ANKLES AND--”

The Silencer’s lips and brow twitched. He gestured to the door across the living room and offered a second time: “I don’t mind.”

Pushing myself off of the bed, I growled, “And interrupt him before he gets to the good part?” I splayed a hand over my chest and gasped dramatically. “Unforgivable.”

Another of those weird little puffs of air burst past his lips. I scooped up my husband’s fingerless gloves and tossed them to the Silencer. To conceal the wedding band.

(Not hearing any arguments in favor of showing off the bling.)

Yeah, well, I supposed that could change if the Silencer figured it’d work in his favor.

I sidled through the doorway, careful not to touch him (or Hilde’s body, which, as far as I knew, was not Sicarian-proofed), and stomped over to the door. Wrenched it open and got the hell outta the way as it crashed into the wall behind it.

“JESUS, DUO, WHAT THE HELL!” Solo hollered. Right in my face.

I put on a show of wiping spittle from my cheek. “Sorry, no Jesus here, just me. The Hell, though -- yeah, we got that. Two outta three.”

He stared at me hard, shoulders twitching, for ten solid seconds before glomping me into his arms and trying to bear hug the shit out of me. “Do you have any idea how long I was trying to get you to answer me?”

Given that his voice was hoarse, yeah, I could hazard a guess. “I was busy.”

“Doing what? Signing your farewell note? Looking for a sharp razor? Jesus hellfire fuck.” He started rocking us back and forth and, damn it, I just sighed and let him.

“Wasn’t like that,” I sighed out.

“Then what,” Wufei demanded, “was it like exactly?”

I opened my mouth. Had no idea what to say.

(Aw, c’mon. You knew Chang was gonna fucking ask.)

Yeah, I had known that.

(So you wanna have it out with them now or in the middle of the fucking building so the sound of Solo losing his shit can echo far and wide?)

Tempting… but I’d pass.

I wiggled out of my brother’s arms and looked over my shoulder at the fey standing in the middle of my living room, waiting to be put to work. I manned up and invited them in with a nod. “Close the door behind you and get over here so I can introduce you.”

“Uh, we’ve already met Hilde?” Solo obnoxiously singsonged as Wufei obligingly shut the door.

“Yup, well. Speaking of, she’s on a kind of vacation right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Solo didn’t get it.

(Duh.)

But Wufei did.

(Naturally.)

He inquired, “And who is currently utilizing her corporeal form?”

Bracing myself for the mother of a nuclear brother blasts, I showily swung an arm in the fey’s direction and said, “May I present the Silencer.”


	6. Summoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Warnings: blood-letting, gross gore stuff, hard "Fey" truths, angst and (Shinigami snark), etc.
> 
> Music I wrote to:  
> “When the Darkness Comes” by Colbie Caillat  
> “Astronomical” by SVRCINA

Krakatoa had nuthin’ on my big brother.

That whole blast-that-echoed-seven-times-around-the-globe thing? Hah. Nowhere near the explosion that Solo let loose… once Wufei explained why what I’d done had been fucking stupid. And then the asshole had stepped back with arms crossed to watch the show. The Spectacular Solo Freak Out Show. Tickets on sale now.

“Hey!” I roared right back -- Solo would thank me later for heading him off before his shouting reached frequencies that only dogs could hear -- “We got shit to do! I’m giving you thirty more seconds to get it outta your system and then we got a fey to bring back! A fey--” I continued hollering, jabbing Solo in the chest, “who you call brother and who fucking let you and Wufei take his head so that the three of us could live to see tomorrow!”

Panting, Solo uncurled his fisted hands. “Yeah.” His voice was well and truly hoarse now. “Haven’t forgotten.”

“Then stop being a selfish prick. You got feelings you can’t handle? Get Wufei to help you spar ‘em out. I want my husband back **_**yesterday.”**_**

Deflating, Solo scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I know. I promised him, too, D.”

And by the look of it, he was finally calm enough to see that through. I headed for the door, nodding for the Silencer to get his ass in gear. He didn’t say a word as we tromped down to the elevator.

(Well, if he **_**had**_** had any questions, Solo’s tirade had probably answered most of them.)

No shit.

We had the elevator cab all to ourselves. I punched the button for the basement floor. As we descended, the Silencer mused dryly at Wufei, “I suppose you’re the adopted brother?”

Solo choked out a sigh, lifting his gaze skyward and shaking his head.

(Yeah. Talk about starting from square one.)

“In a manner of speaking,” Wufei agreed and I just did not have the energy to add any details.

Turning back to me, the Silencer remarked, “In addition to the declaration that clearly unifies the two of you, you also wed your consort.”

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry I missed the ceremony. It must have been adorable.”

Solo stiffened.

I kept my fists lowered. “You need to stop talking. Right now.”

He did. The floors flashed by. The elevator started slowing before he admitted, “I am trying to understand.”

God, but explaining this was getting old.

Solo answered: “We’re family.”

Whether that answered the Silencer’s question or not, I didn’t know. Didn’t care. The doors slid open and I had to force myself not to race toward the node. I had to force myself to walk beside the Silencer like everything was hunky dory. At least I still had the fey cloth that I could tug up over the lower half of my face. There was nothing I could do about my eyes, but hell. It wasn’t as if a passerby would be able to guess what was really going on here.

Fey weren’t supposed to be able to come back from the Void. One-way ticket and all that. Which was why no one dared to fuck with the philosophers because that was where they’d send your obnoxious ass.

It made sense, though: if there was any reason for the five of them to cooperate, then protecting their collective interests was it. Hell, they might have even sworn a pact to that effect. One for all, all for one. So an assault on one philosopher was a surefire way to get on their bad side, and then? Boom: welcome to the Void. Enjoy your stay. Forever. Not even having the condemned fey’s head or knowing his name would be enough to bring the sorry bastard back.

But it looked like Trowa and I had somehow found a loophole: I knew the Silencer’s name, Trowa was the reincarnation of the Silencer himself, the blood that had touched my ring and the fact that both Trowa and I had magic of our own at our disposal… something in all that had kicked open the door.

(Good luck getting it to stay shut now.)

Yeah, no kidding. But I’d deal with that later. Both Trowa and I would.

Finally, we reached the node. It was empty but lit with lights that seemed to glow from within the stone itself. I leaned back against the wall and watched as the Silencer circled the room, peering into each skull-sized cubby. Taking note of the resistance’s recent losses.

I tried not to track his progress too closely because, frankly, when I’d seen my lover’s head floating in a glass jar back in London, I’d maxed out my lifetime quota. But I could tell when he finally found it. Him. My Trowa. The bottled power and centuries’ of confidence that commanded the Silencer’s every move shattered. Hiccuped as he stared into that hole in the stone that was supposed to somehow preserve and protect my husband’s character and memories. The Silencer stared and then slowly raised his left hand to his own face, traced the ridges of scar tissue that Hilde had mocked with precision. And, given that she had seen my consort bare in Niagara as he’d suited up for his fight against Heero--

(Hell, the whole damn fey world got a free show.)

\--then all the rest were probably still there, too. The Silencer turned over his right hand, examined the scars thereon with a mighty glare, and then spun away. Stalked over to a flat section of wall and chomped down on his own left hand with razor-sharp teeth.

“The hell are you doing?” Solo squawked.

The Silencer ignored him as he smeared the green blood over the wall, muttered a string of words, and then a smooth mirror rippled into existence. He was already tearing off his clothes -- the jumpsuit that he’d once favored -- and baring his skin.

I looked away, following the momentum of my rolling stomach. That was my husband’s body, but that wasn’t Trowa.

“Holy shit,” Solo breathed and I dared a glance. His wide eyes were focused at crotch level, gaping at the Silencer who was, presumably, now standing naked in front of a magicked up mirror. Solo muttered in my direction, “Never been gladder to know that you do the pitching, bro.”

Out of the corner of my eye, the Silencer’s nude form stiffened. Went stock still.

Wufei kept watch with narrowed eyes, hands ready to reach for the sword still slung over his back.

Slowly, the Silencer faced me and, as I was no coward, I met his gaze. Stared him down.

“You intend for me to waste the blood of nine fey upon your broken consort.”

I blinked at the warning. “He is not broken.”

“He must be,” the Silencer mercilessly pressed, “broken beyond repair if he willingly spreads his legs for you.”

(Oh -- no -- he -- didn’t.)

An incoherent noise through clenched teeth. I could feel my eyes flashing. “You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Am I not fey?” the Silencer needlessly reminded me. “It is our nature to take. To possess.”

“Hey now,” Solo cut in, “you protect companions!”

“Because the consequences of not doing so are bothersome and messy.” He closed his eyes. Drew in a deep breath. Exhaled. “How long was your consort made to endure magical banishment and burning shame?” Opening his eyes, he indicated the runic scars with a sweeping gesture. “These were guided by fey hands -- a philosopher and a master working in concert. But this one--” He twisted around to show the extensive, graphic scars that spanned his upper back. “--this was made by magic itself when he either broke a second vow, or broke the first again.”

Solo blustered, “How could you even know that?”

Wufei answered, “Because he’s a healer. The scars wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t been stripped of his powers.”

“And he would not have been stripped of his right to magic if he hadn’t transgressed,” the Silencer agreed. Attention still on me, he dug in, “However long he was made to endure burning shame, banished and abandoned, was too much for him. He’s little more than a pet with your hand on the leash.” Shaking his head, the Silencer decreed, “I’ll not give you back your marionette, Reaper.”

Pulling the jumpsuit back on, the Silencer said, “I return Hilde to--”

“He fucks me,” I bit out. To hell with Solo. This was a matter of life and death and slavery.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Really? You don’t believe I’d feed my older brother a line so that he lays off?” Shaking my head, I drawled, “You might know everything there is to know about the fey, but you don’t know jack shit about how little brothers deal with their overbearing asshole big brothers.”

“And you don’t understand what I am telling you. That fey broke his vow twice -- and at least once for your sake knowing what it would cost him -- before the two of you performed the declaration.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” my brother demanded.

“Up until that point, a joining is reversible.” The Silencer arched a brow. “And yet he bled for you.” Jerking his chin over his shoulder, he added, “These scars prove it. He is broken. His head should be destroyed.”

My entire body vibrated with the need to relinquish my post by the door and plant myself between the Silencer and my husband’s head.

Solo and Wufei did it for me. Wufei said with beautiful finality, “You will not touch him.”

The Silencer ignored him, focus locked on me, and held up his left hand. The wedding ring gleamed. He tilted his head in accusation.

“That--” I began. Stopped. “The rings were supposed to be for our marriage. A human custom. I had no idea about the fey side of it. Or why he refused to wear his.”

That gave the Silencer pause. He examined me with narrowed eyes.

“You should talk to Heero,” Solo suddenly advised, “if you ain’t gonna take our word for it.”

The Silencer relented, shoulders relaxing at the invitation because, yeah, all the shit that Heero could tell him and maybe even all the shit that the Silencer could convince Heero to do on his behalf--

(Duh. This is what he’s been angling for all along.)

A chummy little chat with his number one.

(And you’re on the verge of walking right into it.)

The moment stretched as I neither endorsed nor rejected the proposal. Solo looked between me and the Silencer and back again. Wufei braced himself for a fight.

Behind me, the door suddenly shifted, ground-and-growled open.

“What are you doing back in here?” Cathy demanded, pushing the door shut behind her. She looked exhausted. “We can’t do anything until dawn at the earliest.”

“I need to be here,” I said, and it was true. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Trowa here alone. I was not going to abandon him again.

She gave me a puzzled look and I was reminded of the fact that she was fey. She understood relationships better than the rest of her kind, but she still didn’t know what it was like to be a spouse stuck in the hospital waiting room, hanging on until there was news. Clinging to the tiniest ray of hope.

(Just as well. Pity never helped nobody.)

Solo piped up, “And we’re all here because he is.”

“But that doesn’t explain your visit,” Wufei pried.

She spread her hands. “This is my domain. I feel it whenever someone enters.”

“How many volunteers so far?” I checked.

“Eight.”

“Ask Midi. She and her companion will be here by sunrise.” I’d honestly forgotten to mention it before.

Cathy nodded. “OK. So that’s nine. But Duo, we need a healer.”

“We’ve got one,” I told her, shifting my gaze toward the Silencer, “so long as you can give him one solid reason to bring my consort back.”

Blinking, she followed the direction of my stare and scanned the figure she’d been assuming was Hilde disguised as Trowa. But now that she was looking closer--

She gasped. “This isn’t possible.”

He wryly mused, “It appears that the Reaper is more resourceful than anticipated.”

Cathy left my side, just about floating across the distance that separated her from the Silencer. “No one has ever returned from the Void.” She pressed a hand to his chest and stiffened. “But it is you.”

He placed a hand atop hers. The one he’d bitten through to make the mirror with. It was as good as new -- not a drop of blood in sight. “It is me. I am glad you are safe, Cathy.”

Twin tears spilled over her lashes as he lowered his forehead to hers. “Yes, I am safe. Duo and a charisma came for me. Freed me. Offered to let me come home.”

The Silencer’s expression twitched at her choice of words.

She looked him in the eye and said, “We could ask for no better human to stand as the Sicarian. Duo Maxwell was well-chosen.” She shrugged a shoulder in my general direction and smiled. “I was wrong to doubt him when he promised to produce a healer. I trust him.”

The Silencer’s hand curled around the back of her skull, disappearing into a froth of curly, dark hair. “And for that reason, I should enable their abomination of a joining?”

Cathy sighed. “Our world is changing. Perhaps the things we were once warned against do have a place here.”

“That is not a reason,” he gently chided her, his gaze scanning her expression.

She said, “Duo makes him smile.”

Oh, Jesus.

(That’s the best she’s got? We’re fucked.)

But.

The Silencer froze.

“I have witnessed it for myself,” she assured him. “And Duo has done right by him.”

“How so?”

“Surely you’ve sensed it -- he is of magic. And therefore more than simply a companion. He’s a lifelong ally. One who has destroyed the fey responsible for harming his consort.”

The Silencer speculated, “And what of Treize?”

When Cathy quirked a brow in my direction, I shrugged and said simply, “He got his wish: he met the Sicarian. Didn’t end well for him, though.”

That creepy smile was back, stretching the Silencer’s lips. Vengeance served. Comeuppance delivered.

“I speak for Duo Maxwell. And I gladly lend aid to either him or his consort whenever I am called upon,” Cathy concluded and, a breathless moment later, the Silencer relented.

“So be it. Call upon me when all are gathered for the summoning. I will assist in every way I can.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding.

“Come on, Duo. Solo. Wufei. Let’s get some rest,” Cathy implored, gesturing us toward the door.

“I’m staying.”

“Duo--”

“I need to stay. This is where he is.”

She sighed. Rubbed her brow with two fingers as she visibly battled exhaustion. “But if you remain, I’ll be unable to rest. The disturbance of your presence here--please, trust me. I will know if anyone attempts to enter this room. And no hands apart from my own will be able to remove your consort’s head from the stone’s keeping.”

Yeah, but it’d take her a few minutes to show up after we had. Plenty of time for someone haul off with a head or, failing that, fuck up what they couldn’t take with ‘em.

Cathy convincingly insisted, “He is safe here.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on it?” I checked. It wasn’t meant to be a threat, but it was one anyway. Because while I was well of aware of what the Sicarian was capable of -- the bare minimum of destruction it could cause -- I had no idea if I’d be able to keep my shit together. Frankly, I was terrified of losing it.

I stared hard at Cathy, ignoring the contemplative expression I’d drawn from the Silencer.

Her gaze softened. This, it seemed, she could understand: Trowa was important. Vitally important. His safety was interwoven with my self-control. I honestly could not separate the two. “I would suggest that you take him with you, but the stone is the best place for him. His mind and memories will be clearer.”

Right. Because fey stone possessed some basic healing properties. Some kind of calming or orderly effect. Or whatever.

OK, then. So, if Trowa wasn’t moving and Cathy was gonna get buzzed long distance every time someone scratched their ass--

Solo shifted, sucked in a breath, and stated the obvious: “C’mon. It’s not gonna be that big a deal to make this into a slumber party, is it?”

Wufei rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Cathy blinked in quick succession.

The Silencer squinted.

I sat myself beside the door, casting my vote wordlessly. I might not be able to do a whole fuck of a lotta good in close proximity to Trowa, defenseless as he was against the Sicarian right now, but I could make sure no one crossed the damn threshold without checking in first.

Wufei offered to help Cathy with cots and blankets. Sort of. “This cannot be the first time allies have refused to leave a head unguarded prior to resurrection.”

It may not have sounded much like it, but Cathy took it as an offer to lend a hand.

Thank God.

I just sat and twisted the wedding band around and around on my finger through the fey gloves. God. This was gonna be the first time I’d laid down for bed without him since we’d found each other in that forest. Twelve years apart; not even four months together; and I could barely manage my next breath without him. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around that.

As I laid down beside the doorway, I did my damnedest to imagine that Trowa really was here, wrapping me up in his arms on this tiny camping cot. Crowding me with possessive nuzzling and glaring at the Silencer. His unstoppable body heat. Slow and steady breathing.

Time passed.

I wasn’t the only one not sleeping.

“Solo,” Wufei murmured, although I get the sense that he wasn’t trying awfully hard to be quiet. “One of us should ask if this is truly the best course for the both of them.”

I kept my eyes shut. Made sure my lethal hands were snugly tucked into my armpits.

My brother snorted. “Yeah? Good luck with that.”

“You intend to say nothing?”

(At least Chang doesn’t sound shocked.)

I imagined Solo staring up at the ceiling, hands metaphorically tied. “I promised to respect Trowa’s place at my brother’s side. I ain’t gonna break my word. Magical vow or not, doesn’t matter.” He sighed, long and low. “But I’ll do what I can to keep him from killing you if you decide to bring it up.”

“Their joining makes them weak,” Wufei insisted in a nearly inaudible hiss.

(Oh, so **_**now**_** he wants to have a private discussion?)

Well, it was a pretty solid strategy when not even your lover was gonna back your play.

“You’re not gonna get an argument from me on that score.” Solo rubbed his own face vigorously enough for me to hear it all the way across the room. He was guarding Trowa; I was snuggling up with the door.

“But?”

“But they’re happy.” A whisper of fabric as Solo shrugged. “So they’d’ve ended up here anyway.”

I kept my eyes closed. Kept the sob behind my mashed-shut lips. Let the tears fall.

A tumble into darkness. I was too exhausted and heart-sick to fight it.

I opened my eyes in a familiar diner. Booths upholstered in deep, red cowhide. There was an empty plate in front of me. A smear of ketchup and a dollop of mustard that still looked kinda fresh. I reached for a toothpick and poked at it. Sure enough, it smeared.

I doodled up a smiley face on a clean surface of ceramic. Added some ketchup freckles.

“The clansman is correct,” the Silencer said, sliding into the bench seat opposite mine. “The two of you would be better off free of each other.”

Perhaps it was the distance in the dream -- or the mindscape, wherever the hell we were -- that made me see the intent behind his words. “I’m not trying to be cruel.”

“Nonetheless, he will never achieve his full potential given the irreversible wounds his current incarnation suffers.”

“How can you--look,” I told him to his expressionless face, “you haven’t even met him. So you don’t know, OK?”

The Silencer considered that. “You did not lie earlier, but you did not tell the whole truth.”

(Well, wasn’t that as clear as mud.)

At a loss, I shrugged, both brows raised. “Earlier when I…?”

His lips twitched. Hot damn, that had almost been a smirk. “When you were attempting to handle your asshole of an overbearing older brother.”

Oh. Then. Well. “OK, but you being a little right about that doesn’t mean you weren’t a whole lot wrong, too.” I scratched my fingers over my scalp, loosening the weave of my braid. Messing it up. I’d never gone back on the promise I’d made Trowa: he could fix it for me if it got messed up.

**_**Ah, shit.** _ **

Squeezing my eyes shut against the agony as my heart torqued in my chest, I admitted, “It started out that way -- he was afraid of going feral in the middle of, uh, y’know.”

The Silencer nodded.

“But then the Sicarian made an appearance and, he and I, we had to start all over again. I could stop him from hurting me, yeah, but I didn’t want to end up hurting him. Didn’t want him to hurt himself, either. We had to figure it out.” I volunteered, “Master O helped. Wufei, too.”

The Silencer said nothing.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stop myself from rambling. “You can’t judge my consort. Unless you’ve been in his shoes, you just can’t. Hell, his banishment wasn’t even rescinded until two days ago.”

“How did you convince Instructor H to pardon him?”

At this point, the fact that the Silencer had figured out which philosopher had been involved was par for the course. Pretty much.

I aimed my answer at the sunless icescape beyond the frost-covered window. “I reminded him that I’d done him a favor -- took Treize outta the fey version of the gene pool. I mean, he was the one master that Quatre Winner couldn’t touch. Right?”

The Silencer considered that. “But you did not destroy Treize as a favor or with the intent of claiming payment.”

I surely hadn’t. There were times when I seriously considered cold-cocking Wufei for that asshattery. “Nope, but I know what it’s worth to a philosopher like H with all his little pet projects running around--”

(Shit, yeah. That’s a dude who invests.)

“--an’ I’m not afraid to cash it in.” Swiveling around, I glared at the one visible green eye I could see. So flat and calculating and nothing like my husband’s gaze, which could blaze with fire or go soft with surrender. Twinkle with humor and shine with tears of emotion.

(Yeah, we all know you miss him. Story at eleven.)

To the Silencer, I laid it on the line: “I would never hurt him. Cage him. Trap him. Never.” As he settled back against the creaking leather, I looked toward the window again and watched the arctic wind blow across the frozen plain of the Void. “I mean, I’m only human and, sure, I’ve screwed up, but I try to-- damn it, I just want it to be fair.”

A doubtful silence emanated from my seatmate.

(Exhibit A?)

In response to the inner prompting, I listed, “I encouraged him to get a job so he wouldn’t have to ask me to buy his stuff for him.”

The Silencer’s gaze dropped to my gloved left hand. The ring weighed heavily on my finger.

“I never ordered him to put the ring I bought for him on -- even before he told me what metal could do.”

The Silencer drummed his fingertips on the tabletop. “He is not human.”

“Yeah. So I’m learning,” I said because I wasn’t enough of a pompous ass to fool myself into thinking I was any kind of expert yet. Or would be anytime soon.

But. I figured I’d given him enough; it was time for him to open up a little. “How’d it go down? What do you remember from, like…” I gave up and started over: “How’d you end up dead?”

“I do not know. Those memories, if they still exist, occurred after I was un-named. When that happened, I was sent here.” He lifted a hand toward the window.

“How difficult would it have been for someone to kill you afterward?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not something that has ever been done before.”

(Not even gonna ballpark it, huh?)

“Then how about this,” I doggedly persisted. “Can you tell me how to keep that shit from happening to my consort?”

“Stay alive.”

“What?”

“As long as the Sicarian exists, the fey will focus their energies on you. The bird in hand, so to speak. The moment you perish, your consort will become a target once more.”

That knocked the air clean outta me. I needed a moment to suck in a breath. “Because his next companion will be just as fucked over as I’ve been. Great.”

“A great many fey hunters would covet your abilities.”

“Well, I’m not a fey hunter, OK?”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Instead of getting my boxers in a twist over the insult that had to be in there somewhere, I shot back with a challenge of my own: “What. As if fey hunters would go along with being a companion in the first place.”

“It was a favored tactic some generations past.”

Unbelievable. Shaking my head, I muttered around my disgust: “A suicide mission, more like.”

He didn’t refute me.

(Jesus fried a chicken.)

No shit. “How come they gave it up, then? Ran out of volunteers?”

“The masters have always controlled the amount of information juveniles are given regarding their respective dells and the fey world as a whole.”

“Controlled? Like…” It suddenly hit me. “That’s why the masters keep fighting over dells. It’s the nodes, isn’t it? Each one has a different story to tell, or, I mean, teach.”

The Silencer nodded.

(Talk about a tailor-made army.)

Following the logic, I guessed, “So the most ignorant juveniles are the ones sent human-way? To procure sacrifices?”

“For the most part. They’re young enough that their loss is no great tragedy for their master.”

I grabbed a paper napkin and buried my face in it. Breathed through my teeth and battled back the nausea. When I finally convinced the bile to stay in my stomach, I lowered my hands and took in the Silencer’s speculative look.

“You believe me,” he realized.

“My consort didn’t even know his own worth as a healer until Heero clued him in,” I bit out. “Quinze tethered him to that fucking forest, had Cathy yoked nearby to keep an eye on him the whole time. He didn’t even know what human money was! So, do I believe there was a campaign to make him feel worthless and beholden to the fey who resurrected him? Hell, yeah, I do.”

“It is not unusual.”

“Someday, it’s gonna be,” I vowed angrily.

The Silencer’s upper lip curled, whether in amusement or disgust, I couldn’t say. “Sylvia has converted you to her cause.”

“No. Not yet. I still don’t see how having the Sicarian lording over the masters is going to last long term.”

“You expect you’ll last long term?”

I startled. “That’s what all this is for -- turning Winner and getting Cathy to set him straight…” I shook my head. “Tro and I just… We want…”

“A quiet life?”

The fucker was amused.

“What did your consort purchase? With the gains from his employment.”

“Silk underwear and houseplants that needed a home.” And now I was amused. Damn it.

The Silencer ran a hand over his face, but his chest bounced with mirth.

(Yeah, no one who’s seen him smile has lived to tell the tale.)

I didn’t doubt it.

Taking a calming breath, I said, “I know it wasn’t easy for him to be stuck in a human city.”

(Don’t forget about him watching you leave for work every other day without him.)

Yeah, that wouldn’t have been very easy, either. It seemed like every time I looked back on what I knew of Trowa’s life, I only ended up admiring him more. Which was why the Silencer’s insistence on giving him a fresh fey start was endlessly infuriating. Trowa had fought for every inch of progress he’d made. And he’d let Solo promise we’d take care of him. I had to believe that meant he wanted to come back to me, to our family.

And, frankly, I couldn’t deal with the Sicarian without him.

“You can rely on Midi,” the Silencer suddenly told me. Seemingly for free. “Cathy so long as you uphold the bonds she’s woven. Hilde in so far as the resistance endures. And Heero to the extent that your aims align with his companion’s.”

“But not Quatre Winner, huh?”

“He serves all of fey kind?” the Silencer checked.

“Yeah, those were the words that were used.”

“Then no, you cannot trust him to be on your side exclusively. What is best for all fey may not be something you are willing to agree to.”

(Valid point.)

And another reason to put some distance between us and fey politics. I was tempted to quiz the Silencer on how to go about that, but no. Something told me that would be crossing the line into dangerous territory.

(Not like he hasn’t already figured it out, though, bud.)

I sighed.

“Would you like to do a jigsaw puzzle?”

I blinked at the offer. “Huh?”

The Silencer pointed out, “It appears we have all night.”

“We. That include Hilde?” Where was she in all this, anyway?

“In a way. She is present.” He tapped his forehead. “But… unconscious, I suppose is the best word.”

“So she’s not wandering around in your memories or anything?”

“No. That’s not how possession works.”

“Wow. She really isn’t getting anything out of this, is she?”

(Talk about the short end of the stick.)

“She is the longest lived mock in our world.”

I took a shot in the dark as to the reason for that: “Because of your alliance.”

He nodded. “A position she hopes to retain with your consort.”

“Ah.”

(Gotta love enlightened self-interest.)

“What’s Midi’s endgame?” I asked, circling back around to the curious remark he’d made about being able to trust her without tacking on any exceptions like he had with the others.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “A quiet life with her companion.” Tapping his fingers on the tabletop again, he mused, “For what reason did you seek her out in fey lands?”

“Some female companions have been killed. We still don’t know by what. Cathy told us about Midi and, given that a siren in berserker mode is really not cool…”

“Yes. Tell me about these deaths.”

Sure. Why not. Maybe he’d suggest a possibility to explore.

(Or maybe he’ll point the finger at someone he’d love to get up close and “feykin” with.)

I bit back my one thousand and tenth sigh; there really was no safe interaction with a fey. Especially this one.

But he was right about Heero. About Cathy and Hilde, too. And definitely on-target with Quatre because what if what was best for all fey was for its Healer and the Sicarian to be eliminated? Or worse: put in charge?

Oh, God.

(At least you can count on Solo and Wufei.)

But up until what point? Because, like, how smart was it to drag the two of them even deeper into this world where death was just another part of the game? Last I’d checked, they were both pretty damn mortal.

And once I had Trowa back, we’d be right back to where we started: violent deaths of female companions that no one could explain.

(Except for maybe a fey whose memory goes all the way back to the beginning?)

Slapping both hands, palms down, on the table, I blurted, “Yeah, sure. Solving a couple of puzzles sounds great. Lead the way.”

He gestured me out of the diner and two steps ahead. The arctic whooshed past and I set foot in a very comfortable cabin. Exposed timbers. Crackling fire.

“Nice place,” I remarked, biting back a smirk at the sight of a bearskin rug in front of the hearth.

“It served me well.”

I dared to peek out the window. It was late afternoon by the rosy tint on the trees. Deep autumn, too. The sky was a slate gray and golden birch leaves flipped and fluttered in the breeze. There was a Model-T in the drive. Looked new.

“Choose one,” he invited and I turned to see him holding two boxes. The first was clearly a very human jigsaw puzzle -- vintage -- with an illustration of a steam locomotive on the cover. The second, however-- “This the fey version?”

“It is.”

“How’s it different?”

He considered the finely crafted box with wood and shell inlay. “It shows me what’s on your mind. Shows you what’s on mine.”

“Sounds fun.” And so far, my experience with the Silencer had taught me one thing: when I opened up, so did he. Fair trade and all that. Playing it safe was pretty much a guarantee of backsliding.

He replaced the humdrum, human-made puzzle box on the bookcase and turned toward the low table in the center of the living space. I watched him fiddle with the locks, fingertips spinning and tweaking hidden levers in an odd but mesmerizing arrangement before a hidden drawer -- and not a lid -- popped open.

The pieces weren’t tossed together like a salad -- they were stacked like backgammon or poker chips -- and clearly not made from either cardboard or wood. They were stone or shell or…

(Let’s not forget how popular bone is.)

Yeah, this was like no other puzzle I’d ever tried.

The Silencer tipped two out of neighboring slots and placed them side by side. I watched as they seemed to repel one another, widening the space between. Curious, I selected a random piece and sat it in center just to see what would happen. It inched toward one piece in particular before stopping.

And that wasn’t the only weird thing about it: first of all, there were the colors and lines, which all shifted in concert depending on who was touching the pieces at a given time. And, there were no border pieces. Plus, none had been cut in set patterns. Every single one was visibly unique.

The Silencer selected another and placed it in the middle. I watched it move as the colors shifted with whatever it was detecting and transmitting from the fey. And then it was my turn.

We built the puzzle in silence. I was waiting for a chance to see what his initial thoughts would be on the recent attacks. I assumed he was similarly hopeful for a clear picture from me.

When a large ring had more or less formed on the table with occasional holes that were meant for an individual, locking piece, I told him about the deaths.

I watched the shadows shift on the placed puzzle pieces, frowning at shadows and splatters of dark red blood. Flickering flames from bowls of oil. A woman’s hand limp and lifeless. Folds of cloth spilling over a low bed or couch. Something moving in the shadows, strange and insectoid. Its segmented body gleamed. Glowing eyes and twitching ears. A slinking back and cricked limbs. A small lynx bathed in human gore.

“What is that?”

The Silencer took his hand from the puzzle and the images faded to indistinguishable gray. “What the description of the bodies brought to mind. Cathy.”

“What--Cathy?” I shook my head. For a crazy minute, I though he was trying to tell me that the armored, catlike creature had been Cathy but, no. Of course not. There’d been a woman’s hand. But red blood. “I don’t understand.”

“And I cannot show you more clearly.”

(Fucking fey bullshit.)

No kidding. Still, I tried: “The puzzle has limitations?”

“No. Memory.”

(More bullshit.)

Yeah, because the Silencer remembered how short Darlian’s beard had been trimmed. He remembered the faces of the fallen fey on the battlefield where he’d healed Hilde and gained her allegiance. Hell, he’d even remembered the exact model of the digital camera that Cathy had convinced him to pose with Heero for.

Exasperated, I grabbed for the next puzzle piece.

“How do you see your consort?”

**_**Oh ho.** _ **

(Yeah, talk about perfect timing.)

Well, if he wanted to see what I saw, sure. Okie dokie. I took my time placing the piece in hand, locking it among a cluster of others, but I didn’t look down at the picture shown. I didn’t have to. The images I had in my head were pretty fucking clear: Trowa giggling in an overlarge turtleneck and socks hanging off of his tiny feet; Trowa looming over Heero’s broken body amid cracked concrete; Trowa swinging himself onto my lap on the rickety steps of a weathered back porch; Trowa juggling three potatoes and a bunch of asparagus in my old kitchen.

**_**“Do you believe in magic, Duo?”** _ **

I pulled back and away. Enough. Enough was enough. Fuck the puzzle.

I stood and went to the window. The sun was rising.

The Silencer noted, “We will wake soon.”

“You gonna renege?”

There was a long pause. “No.”

I didn’t both answering. Closing my eyes, I focused on the sensation of pressure building in my chest. A familiar hiccup. I let it carry me back to the node, back to where my brother was guarding my husband’s head and memories and future.

“Hey, up an’ at ‘em, dumb-bro.”

I squinted up at Solo. Tried not to hate him because he was there and I missed Trowa so much it hurt. Determinedly, I rolled my aching body off of the piece of shit camp cot before shoving it away from the door. I tried to ignore the shrouded bundle that Cathy delicately placed in the central cauldron and then covered with a small, black cloth.

“I’ll be back shortly,” she said, yawning on her way out, “and we’ll begin.”

“OK. Sounds good,” Solo said because I was busy feeling miserable. “C’mon, D-man. Let’s get cleaned up. Have something to eat.”

I started shaking my head -- no way was I leaving Tro undefended now, within minutes of the summoning kicking off.

Wufei said, “There are facilities down the hall.”

“I’ll check ‘em out,” Solo volunteered. He thumped my arm. “Rustle us up some power bars or something, too.”

He ducked out of the room. I glanced toward where he and Wufei had set up camp last night. “Everything OK? I mean, he’s still there and…?”

“Yes, he’s there.” A hand on my shoulder. Wufei squeezed once. “Solo and I took shifts.”

“Thanks.”

Nodding, he turned toward the Silencer. “How long will the summoning take?”

“Depends on many factors. No less than a day. No more than three.”

I asked, “A day by human standards or fey?”

“Fey,” he replied in a tone that chastised me for the dumb question.

Wufei launched his next volley: “What can we expect at the ceremony?”

“You,” the Silencer replied carefully, “can expect to spend the duration elsewhere.” Meeting my narrow-eyed gaze, he added, “I would not advise you to remain.”

“Yeah? Well, tough nuggets, bud. I am. So what can I expect?”

“Blood.”

(Sounds appetizing.)

Didn’t it, though? I could hardly wait to start gnawing on a power bar.

That happy event took place a very long and awkwardly quiet ten minutes later. Solo returned with his damp hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and a sparkling smile. Power bars. Bottles of water. Hand towels and hotel toothbrush packs. I guess that meant we three were up next: Wufei, the Silencer, and me.

When we got back, Cathy handed the Sliencer a wooden bowl of what looked like ground beef. Uncooked ground beef. With a raw egg and some wasabi on top.

Wufei pretended not to have even glimpsed the contents. Solo grimaced, scraping his tongue over his front teeth like he could scrub the imaginary taste off the buds. I was just glad that the Silencer used a spoon instead of his fingers to gobble the slimy mess of it up.

“They’ll be here, soon,” Cathy announced as he slurped and swallowed. “Solo, Wufei, you can’t be here.”

My brother crossed his arms. “Well, we sure as shit ain’t going far.”

“The corridor will suffice,” Wufei insisted.

I argued, “You guys should go back to the room. It’s safer.” And if I was stuck in a room dug out of solid rock, I doubted they’d be able to get word to me if they needed backup.

Before Solo could refuse, a shadow darkened the threshold. Heero. And, at his side, Sylvia.

I nodded in greeting. Sylvia glanced between the Silencer and me, frowning at the whopping three meters of empty space that separated us, but there was no time for her to remark on it; Cathy was already checking in with Heero: “Any developments in your investigation?”

“We have eliminated the consort as the killer. Therefore, there must be evidence of an unreported individual on the premises at the time.”

I glanced over at Sylvia again, reassuring myself that she was, y’know, all in one piece. Still.

God, but I hated feeling so helpless.

Another set of approaching footsteps heralded the arrival of the nest guest. “Same at Puma Punku and Montreal.”

“Any usable surveillance footage?” Heero asked Noin.

“Nothing. Private residences,” she explained unhappily. “I’ve heard a rumor that there’s been one more. Dubai.”

Heero frowned. “That’s Winner’s territory.”

She nodded. “His fey are investigating.”

“Wraiths?” he prompted.

She didn’t seem offended by his abrupt manner. “In Montreal and Puma Punku, both. Still searching for a trail.”

The Silencer handed his cleaned bowl back to Cathy. As she ducked out of the room, two familiar faces shouldered across the threshold: Ralph and Rohane. Both greeted Heero and Noin briefly but with respect. They also eyed the distance between me and the fey who, by all appearances, was my consort, the guy whose lap I’d been seated on just the evening before.

I just couldn’t bring myself to stand any closer to him.

Master O came. Doktor S was two seconds behind. I wasn’t feeling particularly social, so I let Wufei and Solo welcome Master O. Doktor S tried to catch my eye, but I didn’t feel like being objectified right now.

(Maybe later.)

Cathy returned with one Quatre Winner at her heels.

Ralph and Rohane stiffened. Winner ignored them and told Heero and Noin something useful by way of greeting, “My wraiths have found a trail and are in pursuit.”

Heero nodded once.

“Hm,” Noin said in acknowledgement rather than thanks.

Then Winner pivoted in my direction, marching right over to me and holding out the large, manila envelope that he’d tucked beneath his arm. “I believe these should be in your keeping.”

I didn’t thank him as I took the whatever-it-was. He waited, though. Didn’t look in any hurry to toddle off before I’d taken a peek. So I opened the flap and pulled at the first sheet of paper I could get a grip on.

Jesus.

Trowa’s sketches. Of me.

A quick, sharp inhalation came from behind me. I jerked around in time to see the Silencer’s wide-eyed look. Lifting his gaze to mine, he held out a hand and requested, “May I?”

I passed him the envelope. He carefully slid that first sketch free. Then another. And another. He didn’t reach for a fourth. Though his expression didn’t change, his body language **_**screamed.**_**

In agony? Rejection? Something more than just surprise, that was for sure. Shock. Total fucking shock.

A tear tripped over the edge of his lashes and raced down his cheek. Right one. Left one.

Wordlessly, he passed the sketches back to me. I tucked them against my chest as the air buzzed with curiosity, every pair of eyes trained on our silent exchange.

“This must be the place,” a new voice said. Midi was here, a slender figure at her side. This was Helen, presumably. A grown woman where Sylvia was forever eighteen. Her hair was covered with scarf, not unlike a hijab worn by many Muslim women.

The siren didn’t bother to look at anyone other than the Silencer. “You called; I’ve come. Do we bleed for Hilde?”

“For an indispensable member of the resistance,” the Silencer carefully confirmed.

“Hm.” Her brows arched, but she didn’t badger him for more.

Cathy ushered Solo and Wufei toward the door. “Give us an hour, would you?”

“Duo?” my brother checked. “You sure you’re--”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m good here. I’m staying.”

Solo nodded. He didn’t like it, but at least he wasn’t gonna try and argue. “Sylvia? Wufei and I have a room. It’s secure. You’re welcome to make yourself at home.”

“No, thank you.” She looked at me and I wordlessly held out my arm. She hooked a hand around my elbow and I had no idea what she thought she was gonna be able to do here, but maybe it wasn’t about lending a hand. Maybe Heero literally couldn’t let her out of his sight right now. Just like Midi and Helen.

“One hour,” Solo promised me and then warned Cathy: “If this door doesn’t open, we’ll tear this Goddamn building apart.”

“Understood,” she acknowledged and I nodded, silently watching him and Wufei leave the room, spine stiff with unhappiness. But the fact or the matter was that I was the biggest threat in the room right now. And in a fight with the Silencer, my brother and his lover wouldn’t be much use.

Cathy rolled the door shut and this time I felt it connect, latch, and lock. A circuit of low-level energy hummed around us.

It was time.

She removed a feykin from the sheath attached to her right thigh, on top of her fey silk leggings, and offered it to the Silencer with only the simplest of ceremony, presenting the blade carefully balanced flat across her palms. Taking it, he moved toward the centerpiece in the room, choosing a bowl seemingly at random. I watched as he placed the feykin aside and worked the fastenings open on his jumpsuit. He shrugged his arms from the sleeves and tied them low on his hips, revealing the scars across his shoulders. He then collected the blade and waited for the others to choose a place.

Winner was frowning slightly, no doubt wondering at the pretence. As far as he knew, the Silencer was actually Hilde doing a damn fine job of mocking him. Her powers didn’t extend to mimicking the abilities of other fey, though, so he was gonna clue in real quick here.

(Ten bucks says this comes back to bite us on the ass later.)

It undoubtedly would. And I’d deal with it then. One way or another.

Midi urged Helen to stand with me and Sylvia, who held out her hand for Helen to take.

(Ready or not.)

“It begins,” the Silencer said, glancing to Cathy, who nodded, and then he angled the blade against his own sternum and--

(Jesus fuck all that’s holy!)

 ** _ **\--plunged**_** it in up to the hilt.

I jumped, gaped, forgot to be nauseous as the Silencer leaned forward and vomited dark green blood into the bowl. A pint if it was an ounce.

Holy shit. Just… holy effing shit.

He slowly pulled the blade free, a soft glow beneath his skin around the entry wound. Everyone watched him heal.

And then Quatre Winner’s blue eyes locked onto me.

(Yup. The cat’s outta the bag now.)

I stared him down.

Sylvia noticed. She tightened her grip on my arm.

With a deep breath, the Silencer straightened, clearly ready to move things along.

Master O didn’t hesitate to remove his jacket and long-sleeved undershirt. The Silencer moved to his side, placed a hand at the back of the philosopher’s neck, tilted the tip of the feykin against his chest, and thrust it deep.

He carefully guided the philosopher toward the bowl in front of him, into which Master O quietly disgorged almost as much blood as the Silencer had. Heero next pulled off his hoodie and tank top. And as Heero received the wound, Master O continued bleeding. Puking and bleeding.

Ralph went next, and after him, the Silencer returned to his original place, speared his own chest again, and delivered a second ration of blood into the bowl.

Then Midi and Noin and Rohane. The Silencer paused to bleed himself a third time. Finally, Doktor S and Winner.

By then, Master O was swaying on his feet from way too fucking much blood loss. The Silencer reached his side just as his knees gave out and healing energy from his hands almost instantly restored the fey. Still, it couldn’t catch his breath for him. He lowered himself carefully to the floor. Knelt on the stone and focused on recovering.

He wasn’t the only one. As each fey’s strength flagged, the Silencer was there. Healing them up. Giving them a chance to rest. And as they recovered, he returned to his own bowl to disgorge more blood and then heal. When Master O pulled himself to his feet, it all began again.

The whisper of a blade piercing flesh. The splash and splatter of blood.

Healing.

Kneeling.

And more blood.

I lost count of how many times these nine fey openly suffered and recovered and kept on bleeding… all on just the word of the Healer and the Weaver. Of the nine, only the Silencer knew for sure who would eventually be emerging from that central cauldron. Winner for sure suspected it, but everyone else seemed to take the general of the resistance at face value.

So much pain. So little truth required in payment.

(But it’s not as if we could tell ‘em.)

No, we certainly could not. Too many questions would be asked and I was in no way ready to answer any of them. Wasn’t ready for whatever shift or tilt this would affect. I was barely holding onto my balance as it was.

The Silencer circled the centerpiece of stone, healing each fey one last time when their respective bowls were filled to the brim. He then returned to his spot one more time. Topped off his own bowl in stomach-twisting silence. Put the feykin aside and healed. Stepped back.

And that was when Cathy began her part. Or maybe she had been working this whole time. I’d noticed -- peripherally -- that her lips moving as the Silencer had circled the room again and again, but now she stepped up to his place, his bowl, his blood, and lifted her hands, fingers twitching and wrists swiveling.

She was Weaving. Although… what she wove, I wasn’t sure. Not at first. But, little by little, the air around the centerpiece solidified and sharpened not unlike fey claws forming over blunt fingertips.

Sylvia and I watched as she twined the magic from all nine offerings together. We watched as the weave suddenly snapped tight and I had the sense of a basket forming, tightening, meshing. The blood from the bowls began to soak and crawl up the intertwined strands until a green sphere concealed my husband’s shrouded skull. It thrummed and shimmered. Breathed and sighed in time with the energy of the rock.

Cathy kept her hands lifted, her eyes focused on the central cauldron, and then--

With a squelch and shudder, the spherical basket slicked over, became a wet, shimmering membrane. A perfectly smooth organ. A womb in which the single lump of a head collapsed and reshaped into the lumpy, telltale curl of an embryo. A fetus at rest within.

Cathy lowered her hands. The Silencer was already at her side as she swayed on her feet. Healing energy from his fingertips had her back on her feet in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

“Please accept our hospitality,” she murmured to the others and that seemed to be what everyone had been waiting for.

(The magic words. Hah hah.)

They headed for the door, striding past with confidence and ease of motion that should have been impossible given the injuries they’d each endured. But every one of them appeared revitalized. More than.

(Twice the tingle or your money back!)

Yeah, I remembered what the feel of Trowa’s healing power had done to me. Solo hadn’t been immune, either.

(At least he hadn’t popped a boner.)

Well, Solo didn’t have magic of his own for healing powers to play with. These eight, however, were clearly feeling real fine. Hell, even Midi had a blush on her cheeks as she collected Helen’s hand with a wicked twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smirk.

Heero threw an arm around Sylvia, who was busy running her hands under his tank top to make double sure that he was all good. He grinned, sloppy and slick, the sly dog. The unzipped hoodie was gripped in his free hand in anticipation of Sylvia’s inspection.

Winner sidled as close to me as he dared while he waited for the others to file out.

“Don’t ask,” I warned him under my breath.

His smile was soft, sincere, and very frightened. “I wouldn’t dare.”

(Not unless the asshole wants his head chopped off and barbecued.)

Because this -- the secret of how a banished fey had escaped the Void -- was a game changer. An even bigger game changer than the erasure of Zero and Winner’s sudden change of heart. And both of us knew it.

“My efforts yesterday and today -- all in good faith,” he assured me before heading for the doorway. Just in time to bump into Solo and Wufei.

(That’s some hardcore bro-timing right there.)

I nodded. My feet didn’t move.

The Silencer’s did. It was just him and me in the node. He moved in close. Almost as close as Trowa would have stood. Hovered. Leaned. He murmured, low and for my ears only: “It is done. Your consort will live again.”

(Excellent. Now how the hell are we gonna keep those three asshole philosophers from killing him… again?)

I shuddered. Nodded. It was a good question, but I couldn’t deal with it right now. Alone. I needed Trowa.

I **_**needed**_** him.

My arms tightened around the manila envelope I was holding against my chest. The Silencer’s gaze tracked the motion before lifting to mine.

“Soon,” he promised, and I resolved to hold out -- to hold on -- just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come on the Silencer’s apparent change of heart here.
> 
> Also, the breakfast that Cathy brings for the Silencer is based on an actual Japanese dish called “yukhoe,” which is raw meat (usually beef) ground/minced up. Where I live, it’s often served with a raw egg yolk on top… because raw egg yolks are treated like a meat condiment here. Plus wasabi, which I guess has some sort of antibacterial properties??? Not sure. Anyway, I’ve never tried yukhoe. And the one time I did get food poisoning in Japan, it was not from raw food. I’ ve never gotten sick from raw fish or raw eggs (which totally goes against everything I was told as kid in the U.S.).


	7. Resurrection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Warnings: gore
> 
> Music I wrote to:  
> “Flares” by The Script  
> “Wicked Dreams” by Boy Epic

From the look on her face, Cathy had really believed that the slumber party was over.

(How cute.)

Wasn’t it, though? I was kinda enjoying her incredulous expression as Solo and Wufei trekked bulging backpacks and collapsed cots over the threshold of the just-vacated node. Solo had a cooler in one hand, which pretty much sealed the deal.

“Anybody wanna sing some campfire songs?” he enthused, setting the heaviest items of his load down with the loudest commotion possible.

I rolled my eyes and reached for the cot still wedged under his right arm.

“This isn’t necessary,” Cathy began. But from the tilt of her brows and defeated tone, she’d already figured out she was fighting a losing battle.

I didn’t make an effort to console her because, honestly, I couldn’t see how Trowa wasn’t at his most vulnerable right now. That slick and lazily shifting membrane looked like a sneeze would put a hole in it. And if someone attacked Trowa today of all damn days -- or tomorrow or however long he was going to be, uh, incubating -- then how would all of his memories **_**not**_** be lost forever?

“Not necessary? Yeah, maybe not,” Solo agreed lightly, “but we know how to make it fun!”

With a weary sigh, Cathy decided she wanted to be somewhere other than here and shut the door behind her on her way out.

Solo’s smile widened. Oh, hell. He was probably counting her retreat as a notch on his belt.

(Talk about a 180.)

My brother prompted, “We’re all about the fun times, aren’t we, Wu?”

“Do not call me that.”

“Why not? You and I both know you love it.” Solo waggled his brows.

Wufei huffed out a put upon sigh.

He didn’t look to me for either an explanation or guidance, but I let him in on the big secret anyway: “Yeah, he’s always been an insensitive jackass with a trophy fetish.”

“Jesus, Duo!” my brother blustered, looking entertainingly offended. So that was one point for me on the scoreboard.

“What? Was that supposed to be a spoiler or something?”

The Silencer coughed. By the way his lips tucked inward, I knew he had to be fighting another bout of mirth.

“Well, whatever,” Solo dismissed. “You couldn’t even sell a set of long johns to an Eskimo.”

“They are called Inuit,” Wufei corrected, his tone flat but a playful twinkle in his dark eyes.

“’S a good joke, though, innit?” Solo tried to pun.

I smacked both hands over my face. “Just tell us what we have to do to get you to shut up.” Because if this was how we were going to be spending the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours, then Trowa was gonna end up with a welcoming committee that was one Maxwell short.

(Hm. Doesn’t that remind you of a thing that you haven’t said to your brother yet?)

Damn it. Yeah, it did. So, to the ceiling, I grumbled, “By the way, moron, I’m sorry I broke your face the other day.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d apologize for what I said, but I meant it.”

“And I meant to make you shit your teeth outta your ass.”

Wufei snickered.

The Silencer quirked a brow. “What was said?”

I blindly put out a hand to stop Solo from butchering the requested anecdote. “We were death locked. Trowa made the hard call--” I sucked in a fortifying breath and powered through the memory. “--and Solo ‘He Who Knows All’ Maxwell was cool with going along with it. I clocked him for being a bag of dicks.”

“The Sicarian clocked him,” Wufei further clarified.

“Hey. Beef jerkwad,” Solo shouted my way and grandly air-quoted, “I was not ‘cool’ with it. OK? But we didn’t have all damn day. Or were you looking forward to getting your tweak on with half the fey world out for our blood?”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Wufei barked, shutting the argument down.

Well, fine. Aside from blowing off some steam, it wasn’t like anything good would come of it.

The Silencer stated to me, “The Sicarian augments your physical strength?”

“Only when I’m all riled up.” I shrugged. “Haven’t tested that on fey, though.”

“Just older brothers,” Solo griped.

I glared. “And concrete walls. You got off easy.”

Solo grumbled. I pretended that his old-man griping was incomprehensible. As if he’d come out of a contest against a concrete slab with anything other than broken bones to show for it. Jesus.

Wufei muttered, “Well, you did get off easy.”

“Don’t fucking take that twerp’s side.”

“Yes. Of course, continue pouting. That’s sure to convince me to abandon all logic.”

“You’re such a shit.”

“A habit I’ve developed after having to deal with yours.”

“Oh, just--”

“Hey, Sy,” I blurted, cutting across the argument that, while entertaining and all, would probably end with a sparring session. And then that would degrade to sweaty shenanigans. Ew.

(Yeah, like anyone wants to live with that in their head for fucking ever.)

“Yes, Duo?”

Amused by the playful response, I nonetheless stayed on course: “Heero said you healed him up after he kablooied the council some years back.”

A slight pause preceded a carefully measured “So I did.”

“And… he also said it took weeks.”

“Hm,” he hummed, low and expectant.

(Looks like someone already knows where you’re going with this.)

I bullied past the vague sense of foreboding to ask, “How’d you do it? Control how far you take it?”

When he didn’t answer immediately, I glanced over. He was perched on a cot of his own, elbows on his knees, regarding me with narrowed eyes. “Practice.”

(Well, that’s a huge help… not.)

I snorted and laid back on my own cot, tucked my gloved hands beneath my head and muttered, “Never mind.”

“Wait,” Wufei interjected with a hand raised in our general direction. “This is our opportunity.”

I stiffened.

“Huh?” Of course Solo had no idea what Wufei was talking about.

(Dude, your brother has the attention span of gnat.)

No shit.

I had to give Wufei credit though; the guy had the patience of a saint. He explained, “We can investigate the Sicarian’s range… since the healer currently in residence is **_**not**_** Duo’s consort.”

“If,” Solo drawled snootily, “you can convince the healer-in-residence not to just let you die.”

The Silencer looked to me for confirmation: “You do not know the full extent of what you are capable?”

“Nope.”

He arched a brow. “And why is that?”

“Don’t practice. Don’t wanna practice, either.”

“Why not?”

Oh -- my -- God. “Seriously? Like, **_**seriously,**_** pal?” I sat up and sneered. “Do I have to explain exactly how it goes down every time the Sicarian makes an appearance? Or will an undoable demonstration be enough?”

The Silencer blinked slowly and I knew that look. He’d just figured something out. Something he was going to use against me. “Are you not the Sicarian?”

“It’s in me,” I bit out, “but it isn’t **_**me.”**_**

The asshole dared to swivel his chin and give me fucking fey sass about it: “Then I would like to speak to him.”

“Wha--to who?”

“Shinigami. The Reaper of Fey. If, as you say, the Sicarian is separate from Duo Maxwell, then I would like to meet him.”

(Death wish much?)

I shook my head, completely baffled, and dug up some sarcasm just for kicks: “I dunno. Treize’s big implosion show’s gonna be a pretty hard act to follow. Unless you think you’ll crispify faster than he did.”

(Won’t Hilde be oh so pleased.)

The Silencer’s mouth twitched. “I wish I’d been there to see it.”

“Yeah?” I hissed, “To fucking bad I didn’t think to sell tickets.”

“Entertainment at its finest,” he goaded back. “Would your consort have enjoyed the show?”

My hands curled around the edge of my cot. So tight the fabric squeaked and creaked against the frame. “Don’t say a fucking word about him. You have no idea what he was going through when all that went down.”

“And you do?”

“A general idea, which is bad enough.”

“And so here you sit, putting yourself between him and the rest of the big bad world.” He sneered. “Congratulations on mastering him.”

“You sonuva--!”

My cot toppled with a clatter.

Wufei shouted. “Duo!”

“Aw, shit! Calm down, bro!”

I kept my hands fisted tight and low at my sides as I stalked forward, snarling. “You need to stop.”

Looking intrigued but not fearful, the Silencer countered, “No, it’s Duo who needs to stop lying.”

“…lying?” The word vibrated in the room, strumming against the latent power of the stone.

The Silencer insisted, “He needs to cease telling you that you’ve no right to exist.”

An incoherent growl. A body locked down and frozen solid. Power crackling in the air. “What?”

“Shinigami,” the Silencer said and hell yeah that was what he was looking at right now. The silver gleam. The scythe. The promise of impending fucking obliteration. “You hold a place in this world.”

“What the fuck kind of place could possibly--”

“Balance,” he cut in. “Life and death.”

That earned a scoff. “I’m thinking the fey manage to get themselves killed just fine without me.”

He seamlessly amended, “Creation and destruction.”

I blinked. Breathed. “What the hell do you mean -- creation?”

Patiently, he explained, “There are a fixed number of fey on this planet. The exact number that the ley lines -- the life energy that runs through this world -- can support. Since the beginning, it has always been so. Those living; those awaiting resurrection; those banished. Add all together and you get an unchanging number.”

“So?”

“So how would you care to live for centuries with the same people you went to school with. Your classmates. Indefinitely?”

Oh, hell. “We’d kill each other.”

His brows arched. “Exactly,” he agreed as if I’d made his point. “The fey world has stagnated.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“No, it is mine. I was the one who refused to participate in creating you.”

Well now, wasn’t this a plot twist. “See now, I think you had the right idea.”

“But I didn’t.”

What the hell? “Has it slipped your mind that, like--total **_**destruction**_** of a fey’s personality, self, soul, whatever you call it. Gone forever. Poof!” I would have snapped my fingers if I hadn’t been wearing those fucking fey cloth gloves. “How can you be on board with something like that?”

He blandly replied in kind: “Why does it bother you so much? The destroyed fey certainly won’t bemoan the loss.” He shrugged. Loose and lackadaisical. “Nor will the fey’s allies.” He gestured around the room as he urged me to pause and reflect: “Do Hilde and Heero, Cathy, any of my former comrades resent your consort for taking my place?”

No. No, they didn’t. In fact, they looked at Trowa like he was the second coming. They looked at him with **_**hope.**_**

He concluded, “The earth has seasons. Humans each have a lifetime. The fey have **_**you**_** \-- you **_**belong**_** here. Just as you are. No excuses. No apologies.”

Those words should have pissed me off. Should have pushed me into a nuclear meltdown. But damn was I tired. So fucking tired. So instead of winding me tighter, it cut the strings holding me up.

Panting, I slumped, shoulders sagging. “You can’t put this on me. The fate of an entire species? Their world? Just--no! I won’t do it!”

But he was already disagreeing with something I’d said. “You are not Fate. You’ve met them, remember? It is they who shape us.” He placed his palm flat against his own chest. “It is they who lay down the path each of us is meant to tread. It’s only when one of us has strayed, has lost all sense of purpose and turned away from our own kind, that death and summoning is not enough to set things right. You destroy the wanderers for the sake of all.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “The Sicarian--”

“YOU!” he bellowed, making my joints jerk and my skin sizzle. **_**“You**_** are the Sicarian! One and the same. And until you embrace that truth, fear will continue to dictate your destiny.”

“You say that like there’s actually a choice.”

“There is. One that you make with every breath you take: you’ve been denying your place among the fey. Endangering the lives of those you care about as you dither. Or did I imagine that your brothers made a foolhardy attempt to prevent you from attacking me just moments ago?”

I shook my head, disappointed not with him but with myself because maybe he was right about that. I couldn’t keep relying on Solo and Wufei to come between my temper and the idiots who provoked it. I had to learn how to control myself. And, if I was understanding the Silencer right, then I had to make sure all the horses had been rounded up in the corral before I could start driving the herd. And. In order to do that, I had to let the Sicarian in. Had to welcome it.

But…

“What if it poisons me? What if it’s me who wanders from the path?” Totally lost, I sighed. “You started up the resistance in response to all the shit that the masters were trying to pull. What if I end up being worse than all of them put together?”

“Then, perhaps, those who first created the fey will finally return.”

I blinked.

Wufei eagerly asked, “Who did create the fey?”

“I cannot say,” the Silencer answered. “I hold no memory beyond my own emergence. Perhaps the Fates know.” He continued with indifference, “It hardly matters. We are their abandoned progeny. There is only the future. That is what motivates us.” He paused. Reconsidered. “That is what **_**should**_** motivate us.”

Which just begged the question: “What motivates the fey now?”

“The present. The fey world needs both: eyes that focus on the here and now, and eyes focused on what may come.”

“And the fey that get destroyed?” I pressed, crossing my arms. “What’s their deal?”

“Whenever anyone focuses too strongly inward, it causes a collapse. Gradual but relentless. Treize’s had been happening long before you laid a hand on him.”

Whoa. “Wait a minute. What are you saying? That… that’s what happens? Whenever I touch a fey and they turn to ash it’s because they’ve brought it on themselves?” How could that explain Master O’s near-demise from the one time he’d come into contact with my skin? It didn’t. Couldn’t.

“If you had embraced the Sicarian’s power instead of wrapping it up in fey cloth, then yes, it would have been so from the moment it had been called forth.”

Holy Jesus fried a chicken. He honestly believed that? A dangerous theory… unless is wasn’t just a theory. Could it be that simple? The blade with the power to destroy fey didn’t need me at the helm? I was just supposed to let it do its thing??

Actually, that might explain why Instuctor H had been so fascinated by whatever divergence he’d detected. I worked to swallow as the memory of a warped, wooden porch returned and pressed against my thighs: Trowa had seemed genuinely baffled that I wouldn’t welcome the power I’d been granted. Was that the source of the discrepancy? Did all fey wrongly assume that I’d gladly play host to the Sicarian? Could this really be the answer?

“It’s my choice,” I mused warily.

The Silencer nodded. “Accept that you are the Sicarian; let the fey themselves determine the outcome. You do not stand as judge and executioner. Rather, you embody a force of magic.”

“But -- I won’t be able to protect my consort.”

The Silencer snorted. “He’s a healer. He is more than capable of protecting himself.”

I balked. “Still. How is this gonna help me control anything? In letting this process happen -- in being some kind of proxy or--or bystander…?”

“Did I misinterpret your frustrations? Do you not wish to no longer be a threat to any and all fey?”

“No, I… I do. I want--” God, how to word this? I glanced over at Wufei and, suddenly, I knew exactly how to put it: “I don’t want to be just a weapon.”

The Silencer made a fist with his right hand. “You can either hold the Sicarian as one would a weapon, or--” He lifted both palms. “--permit it to function as it was intended, absent conscious thought and intervention. That is what you must practice. That is what will give you the control you lack. The choice is yours. It always has been.” His chin tilted down, a gesture that added the full stop at the end of a solid argument.

And in its wake: silence. Such total quiet that I thought I could hear the stones humming.

“Damn,” Solo opined.

Wufei quietly concurred, “Indeed.”

As for me, my head felt like it was ringing. Hollow and tolling like a bell because wow, OK. Message received. Now I just had to… figure out what to do about it.

I couldn’t leave the room -- couldn’t leave my husband unprotected -- but I needed a moment. Needed to think.

Turning my back on everyone else in the room, I shuffled over to the stone centerpiece to gaze at the cauldron where the fey womb shifted with the restless movements of tiny limbs. The figure within hadn’t gotten any larger, but Trowa was clearly getting more active.

God, but I’d give anything to hear what he thought of all this. If it made sense to him, too, or if he’d wrap those long fingers over my shoulder and squeeze, warn me against deluding myself.

Was it possible that the Sicarian really did know what it was doing and I was the one who was getting in its way? In reining it in and treating it like a weapon, I was taking responsibility for its actions; I was assigning human values and morality to something fey. There was no point in judging a hurricane or a tsunami -- they were forces of nature. Was the Sicarian the same?

Clearly, I **_**could**_** wield it. The crater in Solo’s bedroom wall back in the house that my parents had raised us in could attest to that. So could the singed and sliced up mattress somewhere in the Niagara base. The wire basket Maureen had hurled at me. The damage I’d done to my own brother’s face. The Sicarian -- and me by extension -- could be a weapon, sure, but maybe -- if I had the strength of faith to just release my death grip on it -- the Sicarian could be more. Not for humans, no, but for the ones it had been designed to interact with: the fey.

And if that was the case… if the Sicarian destroyed impartially -- without a personal agenda of any kind -- then wouldn’t that make me, Duo Maxwell, irrelevant? There’d be no point in fey trying to buddy up to me or manipulate my actions if I wasn’t running the Sicarian show.

Oh, my God. I could protect Trowa and Solo and Wufei from fey schemes and manipulations.

But. Only if the rest of the fey world realized that it worked that way. So I’d have to test it. And how the hell could I do that without going back on my vow to respect both human and fey lives equally?

I didn’t see how I could. So. I wouldn’t be the one testing it. I’d have to wait for the fey to test me.

And that was just not gonna fly.

Sighing, I lifted my hands. Tugged off my gloves and tucked them into my belt. Bare skin, indiscriminately lethal to fey. Or so everyone believed. These hands made me a target. They made my family a target. In order to do right by them, I had to trust what the Silencer had told me.

It was so hard to believe that just letting go -- absolving myself of any responsibility for what the Silencer did or didn’t do -- was even possible.

But it had to be. Because the philosophers wouldn’t have created anything they couldn’t control. They had no fear of the Sicarian itself. What they feared was me. That was the reason behind the death lock and negotiations: they were trying to control **_**me.**_** Because I had their grand creation in a choke hold, wielding it like I would a blade. But the Sicarian wasn’t just a weapon. It was the fey version of nature. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Clearing way for rebirth. For something new to emerge.

**_**Emerge.** _ **

Oh, holy shit.

I spun around. “You said you emerged.” In response to the Silencer’s prompting look, I stuttered, “The word you used -- ‘emergence’ -- you weren’t born. You emerged.”

“Yes.”

I gaped. Jesus fried a chicken. “That was what you showed me. You said it was Cathy. You weren’t talking about the woman. You meant--” Good God. “--the other thing--” The creature. “--that you showed me.”

He nodded. “The feyling.”

My brain hurt as I tried to wrap my mind around this revelation. “But, you -- the fey -- don’t look anything like… that.”

“The Fates,” he insisted with seemingly unending tolerance. “They shape us.”

And he meant that literally. Holy poptarts. “They make you look human.”

“They enable us to interact with humans.”

Which would explain why fey were either male or female, why they could have sex even though they were sterile. Because a couple -- two committed individuals in a partnership -- was the most basic tenant of human interaction. Of cooperation. But wait. There had to be more to it than just that.

And there was: companions were connected to magic through their consorts and any female companion could potentially be used to produce a feyling. The reason no one knew what the hell was going on right now was because there’d always been a fixed number of fey in existence. The reason this was happening -- the reason these women were dying -- was because of me. Thanks to the Sicarian, there were a few empty fey slots now, weren’t there? Vacancies to be filled.

I felt sick.

“Dude,” Solo called. “Talk to us, li’l D.”

I watched the Silencer as I spoke, feeling my way like I was tiptoeing through a minefield: “This was how the fey started out, isn’t it? You all… hatched out of human mothers.”

He nodded.

And given the amount of blood I’d seen in the vision he’d shared last night in the cabin, I had to assume: “Who died. They all died when the feyling emerged.”

“Without a healer, yes. They did.”

“You were one of the first?”

“Yes. Cathy and I were among the first seven.”

Solo rasped, “That’s what’s going on? That’s just -- Jesus.” He paused, probably to swallow back the rising tide of bile. “But, hold up. What’s the deal here? Why risk fey going feral -- berserking -- when their companion is killed?”

Wufei stiffened. “One fey is irrelevant, easily killed and summoned anew with no recollection of its loss.”

The Silencer agreed with that and added, “The instinctual desire for a companion ensures there are always enough human women available.”

“To maintain the fey population.” I had to stop and take a deep breath before I could ask, “What the fuck kind of creators would set up a system like this?”

“I wish we could ask them.” The Silencer looked genuinely disappointed that this wasn’t an option.

Solo blustered, “Well, where the hell are they?”

The Silencer affected a helpless shrug. “Gone.”

And probably only the Fates had ever had direct contact with them. Sonuvabitch. I pivoted toward Solo and Wufei, summed it all up: “Companions are anchored to magic through their consorts. I’ve destroyed fey, and now those fey are being replaced. Wendola’s companion -- she was killed when a brand new fey was created.”

“This is sick,” Solo grunted, shaking his head in denial.

“It makes sense,” Wufei said, looking no less ill at the thought than I felt.

“How many fey have been destroyed?” the Silencer inquired. Because he was keeping his focus on the future, on what this would mean in the days to come.

I answered, “Seven.”

He blinked. “Seven… hundred.”

“What? No!”

“Dozen.”

“No. No! Seven. Just seven.” I counted off on my fingers: “Zechs, Une, Septum, Tsuberov, Dermail, Treize, Quinze. Seven.”

The Silencer sat back, clearly aghast. “Only seven?”

“Well, I only really wanted one of them gone forever.”

He tilted his head to the side, curious. “Which?”

“Zechs.”

“Why?” he ferreted, brows arched.

“It’s personal.” I glanced over at Trowa. He seemed to be kicking now. Like he was playing soccer in his dreams. God, I hoped he wasn’t reliving the shit that asshole fey had put him through.

“And that was what Cathy meant when she’d said you have done right by him.”

I nodded. Once. “Yeah.”

Into the absolute quiet that followed, Solo remarked, “We know of five women, right? Here, Montreal, Puma Pumku, Switzerland somewhere, and Dubai. That’s five who were killed the other night. That leaves two.”

“Perhaps as yet unaccounted for,” Wufei murmured, warning Solo not to get his hopes up even as he placed a hand on my brother’s shoulder.

I added to the complications: “And it was just the first six fey that all bit the dust in one evening. Quinze was something like a month later.” So everyone was going to be holding their breath, waiting, for the next however many weeks. Damn it.

With a glance at Wufei and Solo, I could see them thinking -- dreading -- the same thing.

“No,” the Silencer disagreed. “This cannot be likened to human gestation periods.”

“I’ll say!” Solo barked, fear and frustration cranking his volume up past ten. Way past ten. “It’s barely been two months since all this Sicarian shit kicked off!”

The Silencer ignored him. “Numbers are of greater importance than time. The numbers three, five, seven, and nine enable great things to be accomplished. Three Fates. Five philosophers.” He jerked his chin toward the stone centerpiece of the node. “Nine offerings.”

Wufei mused, “And seven feyling.”

“It must have been Quinze’s demise -- the seventh, yes? -- to initiate the process.”

“We need to talk to Heero,” Solo declared. “And Noin.” With a wince, he added, “Winner, too, I guess.”

As I hesitated, Wufei inquired, “And just what will we tell them when we are asked how we acquired this information?”

“Yeah,” I drawled, “it’s been outta circulation for a long time.”

“Um… these fate dudes told us?”

The Silencer didn’t harrumph, but it was a near thing. “The Fates have been relegated to obscurity. They’re little more than fey legend at this point.”

Solo huffed. “Well, damn it all, what **_**can**_** we do?”

Not a whole hell of a lot. Nothing more than what we’d done already: send out warnings and hope hard. God, this sucked.

I sank down onto my cot, gaze trained on the random and restless shifting of the fey in mid resurrection. Trowa. My consort and husband. I stared, uncomprehending. Mesmerized and mind utterly empty. A guilty moment of peace and quiet and willful ignorance.

I ought to be coming up with some better way to handle this feyling business. I ought to be asking about the particulars of Trowa’s condition, the resurrection ceremony, the philosophers’ priorities, hell -- any one of a bazillion issues that the Silencer was uniquely qualified to offer a perspective on.

And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? How did I know -- how could I know -- that he wasn’t playing us. Feeding us misinformation and bullshit. Little lie, big lie. What was his game? What did he hope to gain from his time among the living? I mean, hell, the guy might have devoted centuries on top of centuries to freeing his people from the masters’ feudal rule, but he was still a fey at heart. And there was only one fey I trusted to give a genuine damn about me, just me -- Duo Maxwell -- and not the Sicarian, and he was currently curled up in the fetal position.

The cot fabric shifted, tightened and raised me up half an inch as Solo eased himself down next to me and wordlessly held out a power bar. I took it automatically and tried not to compare this moment to that holding cell in London as we’d waited for Trowa to survive interrogation or questioning or whatever.

“We’re gonna figure this out, D-dude,” he promised and I had to smile because, yeah, us Maxwell men keep our promises.

I fiddled with the wrapped power bar, turning it over in my hands to mark time.

Not five minutes could have passed before Solo cleared his throat and launched a load of bullshit: “I ever tell you about the time I got Wufei good back in school? The old toothpaste-on-the-toilet-seat prank.”

Wufei glared. “I knew it was you.”

Solo replied with a toothy grin. “And I knew you’d kill me if I tried it before exam week.”

“So you waited until after,” I summed up, reluctantly impressed.

“You bet your ass I did. Wu was a fucking zombie after the last test. Easiest prank I ever pulled.” He snapped his fingers, recalling some other juicy tidbit. “Hey, didn’t you like, sit down for a shit, and fall asleep on the commode?”

Wufei growled.

In an aside, Solo told me, “He was in there for something like an hour.”

“Out like a light,” I concurred. Not even plotting my idiot brother’s demise would take that long.

“Smelled like sparkling mint for three days after!” my brother bragged, hooting with mirth.

With a sigh, I announced, “See, what I’m getting out of this fun little anecdote is that you’re one lucky asshole.” Turning to Wufei, I said, “Been in love with this moron for a while, huh?”

That was pretty much to only available explanation for why Solo had made it to graduation day. Either that or divine intervention. Maybe both. Definitely both.

Wufei sniffed. “Do not mistake lack of retaliation for misdirected affection.” With a sly grin aimed at his lover, he added, “No one could embarrass Solo Maxwell nearly as effectively as Solo Maxwell himself.”

“I call bullshit,” the namesake retorted with a jab of an index finger.

With a delicately arched brow, Wufei drawled, “Oh? Would you like to relate the Bethany Incident to your eager audience… or shall I?”

“Ooh, I know! Why don’t we let the green-eyed monster tell it, eh?” He leaned back with a smirk. “Fire when ready.”

I yawned. Not on purpose, either. Solo pulled up short and, with a wry grin, punched me in the shoulder.

“Get some shuteye, doofus.”

As he stood up, surrendering the second half of the cot to me, I glanced over at the Silencer. “I think it’d be best if you and I slept in shifts.”

He challenged: “Our chats bore you?”

Wufei stiffened before I could retaliate. “You two share mindspace.”

Solo ploughed a hand through his hair. “Jesus. Yet another fun tidbit we can’t tell Trowa.”

The Silencer arched a brow, “Not unless you wish to see a fey in full-on panic, no.”

“Duo,” Wufei scolded, already shaking his head. “You--”

“I knew the risks, OK? It’s worth it.”

My brother sighed out, “Fucking stubborn.”

Well, yeah. Wasn’t like I could debate that one.

Into the edgy silence that followed, Solo’s arms flopped down at this sides. “And you guys say I’m the idiot here.”

Lying down, I snorted. “Huh. All this time we thought your head was too far up your ass for you to hear us.”

He kicked at my ankle. “Butt nugget.”

“Dumb ass.” Around another yawn, I goaded, “Hee…haw…”

Maybe Solo rolled his eyes at me as my eyelids slid shut. Maybe he followed it up with the classic middle finger salute. Whatever. I was out like a light, wrapped up in soothing darkness. Perfectly wonderful nothingness…

Until a warm hand curled over my shoulder and jarred me back to awareness with a cot-rattling jerk.

“Up ‘n’ at ‘em, D.”

“Eh? Wha’s goin’ on?” I slurred, squinting at Solo. But even as I grumbled, I heard it: the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Sounds like we’re about to have company.”

I shot up from the cot so fast the frame creaked and my head spun, but I rode it out as the Silencer inched into consort range.

The locking mechanism on the door wrenched free with that weird, grating whisper and the door swung open on a sigh. Cathy, of course. But, beside her was none other than--

“Sylvia!” Solo greeted because I was still trying to clear the cobwebs. “What brings you back so soon? You figure out that this is where the party’s at?”

“I did,” she teased.

Cathy looked amused. And a lot more rested than when I’d last seen her. How long had I been asleep, anyway?

“Heero’s asking for aid,” she informed us. “A feral consort approaching berserker. So I’ll see what I can do.”

Wufei asked, “How are Noin and Winner handling the consorts in the other territories?”

“As best they can, I assume. I’ll be looking in on them as well.”

“There’s been a sixth,” Heero growled from out in the corridor, just now sidling into view and instantly answering the age-old question of where the myths of blood-sucking, undead hellspawn had originated from. The poor bastard was practically gray with exhaustion.

“Six?” Solo bleated.

“Another female companion?” Wufei pressed.

When Heero nodded, he looked to on the verge of nodding off. “I’ll get confirmation on that before I return.”

Cathy stepped back and gave Heero room to crowd the threshold. He cupped Sylvia’s face in his hands and, on a long sigh, tilted his brow against hers, visibly drawing strength from the contact. “I’ll be back soon.”

“As soon as you safely can,” she replied in tone that was almost a singsong. God, what these two went though as a matter of routine resistance maintenance -- the long separations and such -- I couldn’t fathom it. It obviously wore on Heero. Sylvia, too, if her clenched fist was any indication. But she didn’t grab her consort for one more desperate embrace. She merely returned the soft kiss and let him pull back.

The moment they broke contact, Heero aimed a hard look toward me and my fey shadow. “The threat is still undetermined…”

I nodded. “Copy that. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

Amazingly, Sylvia didn’t seem to be offended by the high-handed, patronizing promise.

“You guys got enough backup?” Solo pestered as only an older brother could.

Heero arched a brow. “Are you volunteering?”

“Nope. Just curious.”

Wufei snorted.

Cathy tried not to look amused. “We’re good.”

We all listened to the sound of their footsteps as they headed for the stairwell and the transporter deals that would take them back to the council HQ. When all was quiet again, Sylvia remarked idly, “I’ve never been babysat before. This outta be good.”

“Lower your expectations there, cowgirl,” Solo joshed her. He plopped down on his cot so suddenly, the thing’s legs stuttered and scraped on the stone. “I’m plumb tuckered out.”

Like I was capable of letting that go. I harassed him: “Yeah? After a long afternoon of watching me sleep?”

“More like a long day and night. Check a clock there, genius.”

“Huh?”

Tossing an arm over his eyes, Solo muttered, “Coming up on the twenty-four hour mark now, Sleeping Butthead.”

“Cut the crap, Prince Griping.”

He waved a hand in the direction of the cauldron. “If you’ve forgotten how to tell time--” He jangled his wristwatch meaningfully and then waved an arm toward the stone cauldron. “Then see for yourself, moron.”

“I will, thanks.” Spinning around, I stopped and gawped. Whoa. The tiny form fidgeting in the center cauldron wasn’t so tiny anymore. Approaching preschooler-size. “That’s--isn’t that kinda fast?” I whispered to the Silencer.

“Very. But not unexpected.” And his tone didn’t invite me to ask for clarification.

I was awake enough to keep my mouth shut at least.

“Who is that?” Sylvia asked of the figure slowly breathing beneath the dark green membrane. “You never said.”

“No,” I agreed, “we didn’t. You ever witness a summoning ceremony before?”

She stared at me for a long moment before deciding to let the issue go. For now. “Many times. Heero almost always volunteers. The blood of a grudge strengthens the process.”

“Strengthens it how?” Wufei asked before I could. There were a few flyaways sticking out of his crooked ponytail, so I figured that meant he’d gotten some sleep.

Sylvia shrugged, watching as the Silencer moved over to his own cot. Now that I was awake, he’d apparently decided that this was his shot at taking some rack time. “In just about every way. I’ve never seen a summoning fail if a grudge is involved.”

“But you have seen summonings fail?” I pressed.

“A couple of times.” And from the disappointed droop of her brows and lips, the losses had been felt hard… which made sense: the only fey healer had been MIA for thirteen years, so odds were that any resurrections Sylvia had seen before yesterday’s had incurred a human cost. On top of whatever else.

Jesus.

Not really in the mood to hear a tale of tragedy and woe, I gestured Sylvia to my cot. “Have a seat? Maybe Wufei knows where Solo stashed the deck of cards.”

He reached into Solo’s abandoned backpack and tossed a box of UNO at me. “Aw yeah,” I approved, keeping my voice down so that my brother and my not-consort could at least pretend to sleep. “Syl, prepare to be epic babysat; we dudes brought our game.”

UNO. The game of games. Still, after four straight hours, it was kinda hard to summon much enthusiasm for yet another round.

Sylvia startled at sudden motion behind her: Trowa, having grown into his big-boy kindergartner-sized britches now, rolled over and stretched like a cat in a puddle of sunshine. I almost expected the membrane to pop like a balloon, but he merely curled back up and settled down.

“I can see a difference,” Sylvia remarked with an assessing glance, “from just since I arrived. It’s almost like the fey’s companion is nearby.”

“Yeah?” I prompted, trying to sound bored as I scrambled for a good deflection topic.

She nodded. “It accelerates the process… but only if any present fey keep their distance.”

Just as she glanced toward the Silencer’s apparently comatose form, Wufei mused, “They can tell there’s a fey in close proximity to their companion.”

“Uh-huh. Distracts them -- keeps them focused on the possibility of an impending attack on their companion instead of immersing themselves in the magic.”

“You and Heero haven’t been through this before,” I accused because, hey, getting people to feel defensive was a surefire way to distract them from an on-coming eureka moment.

“Of course not. Heero’s too stubborn to die.”

Hah! Now that, yeah, I could believe. I bit my lip hard and Wufei filtered a chuckle through a cough.

“Anybody know any card tricks?” I asked just to be obnoxious.

Sylvia smirked. “Unfortunately, no. But hey, if we’re talking balloon animals, I’m your gal.”

I snorted out a laugh.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trowa’s entire form startle. The Silencer’s eyes popped open. And that was when I heard it -- the sound of footsteps.

Wufei and I both stood, angling ourselves in front of Sylvia and herding her toward the stone cauldron just as the door ground open.

Solo sat up, squinting. Hands fisted.

But it was only Heero.

“Way to call ahead first, pal,” Solo bitched, flopping back down flat on his back. Wufei relaxed. The Silencer’s eyes closed.

Cathy leaned into view, bracing herself upright. The poor gal looked completely wrung out.

“Sylvia, let’s go,” Heero tiredly commanded.

“Mission complete?” I pressed, looking from one fey to the other.

Heero nodded and Cathy reported, “All six consorts are resting in fey stone, under guard.”

Cool. That sounded pretty cool. Or as cool as could be expected under the circumstances.

Sylvia gave me a quick hug. “Fun times, Duo. Thanks.”

“Hey, yeah. Let’s UNO it up again sometime.”

I was watching her walk toward Heero, not for any particular reason but let’s be real -- there wasn’t much in the way of activity happening in this place at the moment, so that was why I saw it. The slight hitch in her gait as she reached the halfway point. Her back stiffened. Her fingers curled into fists, knuckles going white.

And this wasn’t the first time. When Heero had kissed her goodbye earlier, when she’d looked supportive and loving and resigned, her hands had told a different story then, too. I hadn’t been paying attention then.

Well, I sure as hell was now because--

**_**“It accelerates the process.”** _ **

Sylvia’s own words. A companion and consort in close proximity kicked the magic into overdrive. She’d been talking about a resurrection.

But what about an emergence?

Oh, Jesus on a chicken farm.

I lunged for her before I could second-guess myself because I knew how this was going to look to Heero and how very **_**very**_** much he was not going to like it.

“Oi, Syl. Hold up a second.” My hand clamped around her arm and I was hauling her back toward our little campsite, watching Heero’s eyes widen and his shoulders tense. We were allies -- he **_**knew**_** we we all allies. But that wouldn’t buy me much leniency and what I had to say next would spend it real quick. Thank God Wufei was right there on Sylvia’s other flank because when Heero bristled up like a mutant porcupine on steroids, I felt a thrill in my sense of self-preservation.

“Release her,” Heero commanded, tone low and dangerous. It woke Solo up. Got the Silencer on his feet, too.

I focused on Sylvia. “Something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you really? Because the closer you get to Heero, the more pain it looks like you’re in.”

She glanced Heero’s way, apology curving through her from her hairline to her spine. “I… I don’t know. For the past couple of days, I’ve just been feeling a bit off.” She huffed, rolled her eyes at herself and informed the ceiling: “Almost like it’s my time of the month.”

But it couldn’t be. If I was understanding things correctly, then when magic was involved, keeping things in stasis meant that female companions were, er, exempt from those kinds of fun and games.

The Silencer moved in, crowding Sylvia and extending a hand toward her middle. “May I?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Heero remained poised just this side of the threshold, ready to take on all four of us at the drop of a hat, but rational enough to know that if something were wrong, then Sylvia was in the only hands that could heal her up.

I kept an eye on Heero as he stared hard at the spot where the Silencer’s hand splayed over Sylvia’s belly.

“There have been six confirmed deaths of female companions?” the Silencer checked.

“Yes,” Heero gritted out past sharpened teeth. “All torn open by someone other than their own consorts.”

“Hm.” The Silencer gently nudged Sylvia even further into the room. “You will maintain your distance unless you wish for your companion to be the seventh.”

She gasped. “What!”

Solo swore.

Heero snarled.

“Come no closer!” the Silencer ordered, but it was too late. Whatever rationality Heero’d been clinging to slipped through his fingers. He was a fey consort focused on two undeniable facts: his companion was in danger and we were preventing him from reaching her.

He charged.

I put out my hands -- my **_**bare**_** hands.

Oh, fuck.

That was all I had time for because Heero was fast and determined and on me in less than a second.

And then he was across the room, slamming into the rock with enough force to break human bones. My right hand was throbbing. And Heero was growling, shaking his head to clear it but…

He wasn’t disintegrating. There was no hole, no cavity in the center of his chest where my fist had connected with him. I waited, breath held, daring to hope…

“Give her to me,” he rasped, clawing his way into a crouch. His blue eyes locked on me with total focus. Holy shit. He was still alive. My hands were bare and I’d rung his bell good, but he was still alive.

Solo leaped in front of me before Round Two took off. I grabbed onto his sleeve and locked on.

The Silencer slid around to face off with Heero. “The closer you are to your companion, the more your presence exacerbates the situation. Stay back and **_**listen--”**_**

But I guess fey grudges weren’t known for their patience. At least not at times like these. Heero lunged.

The Silencer crashed into him on a grunt and powered forward like a locomotive at full steam, slamming the nearly-feral fey up against the node wall.

“What the hell is going on?” Sylvia demanded and I figured the Silencer had just tag-teamed me for the explanation bits. Wonderful.

I blurted, “The number of fey -- the population -- you know it doesn’t change, right?”

“Yes? Yes!” She shook her head, baffled by my non sequitor and staring at her consort’s thrashing limbs. “What of it?”

“Well, recently it **_**has**_** changed. The fey are down seven of their own kind.” I waggled my bare fingers in both an explanation and a reminder of what I was capable of. Of what I’d already done. Of what had, mysteriously, not happened to Heero just now. “And I think it’s a problem that those six women were sacrificed to fix.”

Cathy blinked. “What are you talking about? New fey?”

“Yes.”

“If that’s true, then where are they?”

That I couldn’t answer. I’d bet that the Silencer could weigh in on it, but that just wasn’t going to happen. Not so long as he was pretending to be my Trowa, young and pretty much just as clueless as everyone else about these recent deaths. I shrugged. “Haven’t figured that one out yet.”

“But you’re sure that’s what’s going on?” When I nodded, Sylvia’s hand went to her belly. “I’m pregnant? This is Heero’s child?”

God, I hated wrecking the hope in her voice. The wonderment that was softening her expression. But she needed to know. “No. It’s not Heero’s. It’s from the magic itself. Through the connection that you have with it because of your joining with Heero.” I pointed to her belly. “There’s a new fey in there bursting to get out.”

“My God--”

“Destroy it.” Heero’s command resonated, shocking me. The guy was pinned to a wall, struggling and snapping at the Silencer, and yet he was still lucid. Impressive.

I jerked my chin in acknowledgement. “Yeah, we can give it a shot.” I turned back to Sylvia because it was her life on the line here, so this was gonna be her choice. “But know this, Syl, if we figure out how to get rid of it, it’ll just come back again. Maybe not to you next time. Maybe to someone who’s too far away for us to help.”

She swallowed. “Someone who dies.”

I nodded. “Here you are, in the same room with a healer. The odds don’t get much better than this.”

“There’s an infirmary,” Cathy contributed, “for companions. Fully stocked and prepped for emergency procedures. I can have it staffed immediately.”

The risks, all available data, offers of assistance: everything was on the table. We waited for Sylvia to make up her mind.

“Don’t do this,” Heero bit out, desperate and demanding. Selfishly uncaring of who else might end up in the line of fire if Sylvia pulled a polite pass. But. I couldn’t really blame him.

She pressed both hands to her belly where, I assumed, she hurt. She hurt because she was bleeding internally. This thing was shifting and clawing, maybe even devouring her from the inside.

My stomach rolled.

Sylvia shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Heero. I have to.” She shuffled toward Cathy, warily keeping her gaze locked on Heero. “Could you take me to the infirmary?”

“Yes, of course.”

“SYLVIA!!”

Cathy winced, but talked over Heero’s roar, “Once your consort has been restrained, I’ll send the healer along. You’ll make it through this.”

Damn right.

The instant Cathy and Sylvia were out of earshot, the Silencer leaned back and struck -- a headbutt that had Heero’s skull bouncing off of the stone followed by an uppercut to his chin. Not delivered by a fist but an arching elbow. Damn. The Silencer had put his all into that blow and finally Heero dangled, limp and deflated.

Like a popped balloon animal.

“Jesus,” Solo opined.

“Grudges are hardheaded,” the Silencer explained. Unnecessarily.

Movement in the hall. I jerked at the sight of no less that four fey guards -- Hilde’s posse. They took the Silencer’s orders to remove Heero to a cell and secure him tightly.

As the unconscious fey was hauled away, Solo let out a long breath. “Intense.”

“It’s not over,” the Silencer declared, staring past my shoulder with narrowed eyes.

I stiffened, sucked in a breath, and forced myself to turn and look. But I was willing to bet on what I’d be seeing.

“Holy hellfire!” Solo rasped as Wufei leaped to my side.

I was a bit preoccupied with what I was looking at to really contribute a reaction.

Trowa was crouching in the basin, pawing at the membrane that appeared stretched taut over his skull and knees, elbows and feet. The sharp points of his fey fingertips streaked and slashed. A wet, squelching. Muffled snarls.

“It’s time,” the Silencer declared and my mind blanked, making room for the memory I’d witnessed with Hilde when we’d last paid the Silencer a visit in the Void. The feral fey. The feast of bloody flesh.

“Solo, Wufei, get the hell out,” I ordered, the words whistling though my locked-down and dried-up throat.

“What? The hell you say! We’re not going anywh--”

The Silencer stepped up behind me. “I’ll stay,” he declared and then specifically to Solo, challenged, “unless you’d like to volunteer as the second course.”

“The second--”

Solo’s confused blathering was interrupted by the sight of long nails shredding the green membrane, blood oozing and razor teeth clamping down on the edge of the fey placenta. A throat slicked with fey blood flexed with a deliberate swallow.

We all had a pretty good idea of what was on the menu for the first course.

“We’re leaving,” Wufei agreed, grabbing onto Solo and hauling him toward the door.

“No! Goddamn it! Get off me! You!” he bellowed at the Silencer. “If my little brother ends up with so much as a scratch on him--!!”

“He won’t.” The Silencer rumbled, “I guarantee it.”

Which I thought was a stupid as shit promise to be making, but it got Wufei and Solo across the threshold, where they stopped to look back one more time.

The Silencer placed his hand on the still open door and prompted them: “Look in on Sylvia. Send for me when necessary.”

I didn’t wait for the Silencer to roll the door shut all the way before quietly pointing out, “You shouldn’t be here, either.”

He ignored me and the heavy **_**thud!**_** of the stones coming together resonated in the very air. “I must be here. Or he will hunt you.”

I was still watching my consort chew and claw his way through the artificial womb, and I was trying really hard no to upchuck at the sounds he was making as he gorged on blood and tissue and whatever else he could get his sharp, fey teeth on. Jesus. I had never seen Trowa like this. Not even when he’d been lost to the bloodlust, looming over Heero’s broken body in anticipation of victory. This was… this wasn’t my consort. This wasn’t my husband. This was a fey. Pure and simple. An animal. Unstoppable.

What? No, not unstoppable. I could stop him. I would, if I had to. Trowa would not hurt me. Not because he loved me. Hell, I wasn’t even sure he remembered me or our life together, wasn’t sure his mind was **_**capable**_** of processing anything beyond this total hunger.

But I could stop him. Taking a deep breath, I put my hands up. It wouldn’t be pretty, but I could stop him.

A hand on my shoulder. The Silencer.

Before I could wonder how many stubborn, idealistic companions he’d tried to talk sense into -- before I could wonder if I was one of those idiots on the verge of getting snacked on by their own consort -- Trowa froze.

Crouched as he was, covered in globs of congealed blood, he was an uplifted arm away from imitating Rodin’s The Thinker. But he didn’t raise his arm, didn’t prop an elbow on his knee and tuck his fist beneath his chin. No, he opened his eyes. Green and glowing.

I--oh God holy shit.

Both clawed hands curled around the edge of the stone. He purred low in his chest and I felt a tingle shoot over my scalp and down my spine. My blood froze.

His unblinking gaze focused on me and he sucked in a breath, slurping the remains of the membrane up in one long swallow. My stomach rolled itself up in a stale shag carpet and pretended to think of something refreshing. Like summer breezes. Fluffy clouds in the sky. Sorbet.

A string of drool escaped Trowa’s open-mouthed smile. Green-clotted teeth, splatters on his jaw and cheekbones, slick covering his chin. His ribs heaved as he scented the air.

I wondered if this was what the human sacrifice was for.

Eyes wide, breath thin, body trembling, I tracked him as he pulled himself out of the cauldron and picked his way over the ring of stone bowls. I couldn’t even say his movements were catlike. He moved like something out of the deepest, darkest, subconscious human nightmares: something insectoid and alien. 

I froze. I forgot about being prepared to defend myself. Forgot I was looking at my consort and husband. Forgot everything except for the feeling of being hunted.

Oh, Jesus. The Silencer had been right: I was the prey. And I couldn’t move. All I could do was stand here like nitwit, waiting for the predator to pounce.

And pounce he did. So fast I barely registered anything beyond a blur of green, smeared flesh and overwhelming panic.

I went down. Somehow. I was on the floor, hard stone along my left side and growls coming from over my shoulder. Stunned and numb, uncomprehending, I clawed myself away from the ruckus, rolled to my feet, and gawped.

Trowa was locked in close, flesh-rending and blood-spraying contact with the Silencer. Low snarls that, with each breath, sounded more and more like words.

I blinked. I swallowed. I did my damnest to focus!

“Mine. My companion. Duo is mine!”

Oh. Oh holy--

“Trowa!” I shouted. Tried to shout. Might have shouted. “Trowa!” I held out my hand, assembled whatever calm I could manufacture, and called out, “C’mere, baby. C’mere.”

Limbs tangled and twisted, bodies arched and rolled.

“Trowa, forget him. This is where you belong. With me. Be here with me.”

And then he was. Bloody and pungent and feral. He rolled away from the Silencer and came up on his feet, scooped me up in his arms. Tight. So damn tight. Inescapable.

My arms wound around his waist and this was the moment of truth. Right here, right now.

I pressed my forehead against my fey husband’s shoulder and waited for either the claws or a caress.


	8. A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo POV
> 
> Warnings: gore (like lots of implied gore and surgical procedures and other things that make me squeamish), nudity, reference to sexytimes
> 
> Music I wrote to:  
> (in Las Vegas) “Devil, Devil” by Milck  
> (in fey lands) “I Wouldn’t Mind” by He Is We

There were claws. I was sure of it. But I didn’t feel them. Not in a bad way. In fact, all I could feel was Trowa. Solid warmth and rhythmic breaths and silent skin. The agitated thrum of fey energy that had once clashed with the reined power of the Sicarian -- even that was gone. It was just him and just me. And layers of cold, sticky fey blood and stale fey cloth. Oh, wonderful.

Those long fingers and terrible talons wrapped around my upper arms. He eased himself back, hunching a bit, and scanned me critically. “Something’s different.”

I nodded helplessly. Oh, Jesus. So much was different now. For one thing, I’d lost him for a second time. The first had been back in Dumfries when I’d been a confused little kid, hauled away from my new friend and shipped back to the States like damaged goods marked “return to sender.” But this time -- this time I’d known what was at stake, what I’d lost, what I might never get back.

But that wasn’t what Trowa was talking about. His thumbs rubbed over my shoulder joints and I tried not to stare at those gore-caked claws. “The Sicarian -- I don’t feel it.”

“Shh,” I hurried to soothe because he was starting to look a little panicked. So soon after the initial wave of homicidal bloodlust, too. Not good. I blurted, “I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing what?”

“Practicing…” I faltered. Now was not the time to get into the nitty gritty details, so how to explain this in ten words or less? “A paradigm shift. Maybe the Sicarian doesn’t have to be a weapon. Unless I need it to be.”

Not exactly ten words or less, but close enough. And good enough to unstring the increasing tension from my consort’s shoulders. He gathered me close again, but not before I glimpsed the cold stare he aimed at our chaperone.

“I am coherent and in control,” Trowa said firmly enough for me to hear the “now fuck off” in his tone.

The Silencer hummed. The fucker sounded amused. “Manners, child. My only concern was the safety of your companion.”

Trowa simmered in silence but said nothing else as the stone door grated open, leaving us in relative privacy. Relative because anyone could stroll past and catch and eyeful of my lover’s naked ass. Streaked with drying fey blood though it might be.

“C’mon,” I urged, maneuvering him toward one of the packs Solo and Wufei had hauled down. There had to be some clean duds somewhere.

Trowa tracked my movements with a silent intensity that sent a zing through me.

I found a hoodie and a pair of sweats. “These’ll work.”

My husband’s upper lip twitched as if it might curl. Oh how I had missed that little sneer of his.

“No more free shows?” I prompted, shaking the items for emphasis, and my display of possessiveness charmed a tiny grin from him. God. Fey. Part of me wished I didn’t understand the way their minds worked quite so well. The rest of me just wanted to roll my eyes.

The corridor was deserted. I linked my fingers with Trowa’s and got us both downstairs and into an elevator. Pressed the button for our floor and hoped no one tried to catch a lift with us. Trowa didn’t seem to give a damn whether we might end up with company or not. He nuzzled at my neck. Licked my earlobe. Rubbed himself against me like he was marking territory.

I let him. After the hell of the last couple of days, I did not have it in me to put even an inch of space between us. So it should come as no surprise that I followed him right into the shower for an industrious scrubbing. Sudsy hands against warm skin and proof that this wasn’t a dream. He was real and alive and here.

“Kiss me,” he breathed as the steam rose around us, clean and hot.

I cupped his jaw in my hands but, like the first time back in the forest behind Caerlaverock, I hesitated. “The philosophers death-locked you in order to manipulate me. Are you sure -- really sure -- that having me for a companion is what’s best for you?”

Trowa gasped in awe. I gaped at the sight tears spilling from his eyes as he processed the implications. The risks. He didn’t argue that it was too late: we’d already performed our declaration. Him dying hadn’t destroyed that bond -- it was still there because Solo had made sure to protect Trowa’s most precious possession: his memories, his sense of self, his history. The only way to erase the connection between us was for Trowa to be summoned by name alone, his mind a blank slate.

But still. Given the shit he’d just been through -- that untenable choice in that terrible prison -- I had to ask if he still thought I was worth it.

And he answered, “Yes.”

Simple and infinite and yeah, OK. I was done with resisting. Questions, exhausted. Caution, spent.

I kissed him.

He groaned and I seconded it. Jesus. At least I hadn’t needed nearly as much convincing this time around. Also, this time around, the kiss was so much better. We were warm and bare and indoors and there was no artless mashing of lips. No uncertainty over where I was allowed to touch him or whether or not I would hurt him. No pain, no blood, no fear.

Our lips slid against each other’s and Trowa propelled us both toward the bed, wet hair and damp skin be damned. I pulled him close and he pressed me into the mattress for a thorough kissing. Ah, damn hell. He was so good at this, so passionate and focused, pausing only for breath and silent assurance that this wasn’t a dream.

The nightmare was over.

My eyes stung, filling up and overflowing as Trowa searched my expression, thumbing the moisture away. I gulped in air every time his chest pressed against mine as his lungs filled with breath. In and out. In again. Out again.

Wedging a hand between us, I found his heartbeat and tracked it through my palm. “This can’t stop beating. Never again,” I informed him in a terrified hush. “It will kill me.”

His lips trailed over my brow. “I cannot make that promise, my chosen.”

Damn it, I’d known he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Still, he had to know -- I had to **_**make him understand**_** \-- that it wasn’t cool. Even though he was here now and everything was fine, I was not cool with what he’d had to do. I would never be cool with it. Not then or, God save me, the next time.

He pulled me in close and I pulled him in closer. “Mine,” I mouthed against his ear and he shuddered.

His arousal was lying heavily alongside mine, but neither of us moved to include them in the moment. Sure, we were naked and alone and in bed, but this wasn’t about sex. Hell, I wasn’t altogether sure it was about love. Maybe later, after the horror and pain faded a bit, it would be.

Just then, my empty stomach, which I’d been doing a damn fine job of ignoring for the last hour or so, growled. Audibly.

Trowa’s soft chuckle pushed more tears out past my clenched eyelids. “Ah, Duo. Let me take care of you now.” He placed a kiss on my jaw. “Before you turn into a hungry boa constrictor and gobble me up.”

“Do snakes gobble?” I teased in between sniffles.

My husband rumbled. “I’m well aware that you can swallow me down.”

My hands twitched. “Fucking Jesus,” I cursed, wincing as my dick hardened and my belly yowled.

Bracing himself up on his hands and knees, smirking down at me, Trowa licked his lips and--

From somewhere in the living room of the hotel suite, my phone blared. I winced at the ringtone.

“Solo’s worried about you,” Trowa pointed out when I groaned a denial.

When he crawled backward toward the foot of the bed, I let him go. Let him wander through the doorway to hunt down my stupid, **_**stupid**_** cockblocking gizmo. Right when I was just getting into it, too.

I made a token effort to drum up an insulting nickname for the occasion as the volume increased with Trowa’s progress back to the bedroom. He tossed it my way from the threshold, but didn’t stop moving until he was crawling back into bed beside me.

I jabbed the button to connect the call as Trowa nudged me upright. “You’re on speaker, moron. What’dya want?”

“To say hi to my brother-in-law, if it’s not too damn much trouble. Tro-bro, you with us?”

“Present and accounted for, Solo. Thank you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, believe me. D, you better get him down here to the infirmary on the third floor. Sylvia’s in bad shape.”

“What!?” I snarled at the phone, “Why the hell isn’t the Silencer handing it?”

“Uh, because he’s not here yet. Should he be? I mean, we called but--”

“Hell, yes, he should be there.” I searched wildly for a clock, finding one on the nightstand that Trowa’s shoulder had been blocking. “Going on a freakin’ hour now.”

“Aw, shit. OK, look. We’ll have to track him down later. Just get your asses here pronto.”

“Pronto. Right.” I hung up and grabbed a pair of jeans out of my still packed duffel bag. Stuffed my legs into the denim, rolled some socks onto my feet, and jumped into my shoes. Trowa passed me my black, button-down and a power bar that he’d scooped up from the kitchen counter as we headed for the door. He was already aged up and dressed for a stealth op. Damn but black fatigues was a good look for him.

“Why is Sylvia in bad shape?” he asked as I loped toward the elevator.

“Those dead female companions?” I reminded him, punching the call button. When he stiffened, I explained, “We’re hoping she’s not gonna be the seventh.”

Luck was with us -- the doors rolled right open. I thumbed the button for the third floor and shoved my right arm into the nearest sleeve.

Trowa asked, “Where is Heero?”

“Restrained. The closer he gets to her, the less time she has.”

“You’ve identified the cause of the deaths?”

“Pretty sure we’re dealing with feyling.” I wrestled my left arm into and down my other sleeve with what felt like a minor muscle sprain. Damn it. Sometimes it was kinda hard not to hate the jumpsuits. “I’m told that seven is an… auspicious number.”

He growled a word I didn’t know, but could probably translate into four letters in the vernacular.

The doors rolled opened and there was Solo practically doing the gotta-pee dance in the hallway, staring wide-eyed at whatever the screen on his phone was showing him.

“Hey!” I called and he did a double-take before thrusting his phone in my face and--Jesus.

Trowa sprinted past me toward the door that Solo mutely pointed to. I didn’t remind him that my consort could probably smell the blood well enough to find the right room.

“Solo!” Wufei shouted via the video call. “Where the hell is--”

Trowa crashed through the door, Solo and I running two steps behind.

The blood. Oh, God, there was blood everywhere. Cathy and Wufei were standing back as the nursing staff struggled to apply pressure. One woman -- Midi’s companion Helen -- was wheeling a cart over. Light slid and gleamed over an arrangement of surgical knives. Like for a C-section.

But then Trowa was at Sylvia’s bedside, his hand on her belly and glowing healing power. And, yes, thank God. Color was returning to her face. Her breathing evened out and deepened. She was gonna make it--

Until the thing inside her tore though a major artery. She screamed, short and abrupt and hell yes that was getting added to the nightmare folder. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as Trowa scowled furiously, already re-healing her.

“What are you doing?” Solo barked. “Let the fucking thing outta her already!”

“Not at the cost of her life,” Trowa grunted and I realized what he was doing. This was a battle and he was answering each strike because if he didn’t Sylvia would lose too much blood and die by the time the feyling found its way out of her.

I spun and demanded of Helen, “Do we know where it is? Ultrasound?”

I was thinking we could, you know, go in there and get the thing, but she shook her head. “It’s too agitated.”

“Agitated,” I echoed. Like, as in, the creature was tearing through her liver and stomping around in her intestines? Jesus. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. “What can we do?”

“Nothing that your consort isn’t already taking care of.”

Sylvia let out a wail. Tears were streaking down her face and all I could think was that old adage about the cure killing the patient. I jogged over to her, wedging myself in beside Trowa and grabbed her hand. “We’ve got you, Syl. Just hang on.”

Trowa thrust out one hand toward the cart of tools and Helen swung it within range. He grabbed a scalpel and pressed down on her belly, energy radiating off of his hand like he could drive the feyling to wherever its emergence wouldn’t be an immediate death sentence for its host.

“You got us all here with you, Syl,” I babbled. “We’re not letting go. OK?”

She nodded tightly, teeth gritted and a whine eked out, thin and low and gaining force until she was roaring--

The scalpel flashed as Trowa cut low on her abdomen and--

Oh holy of Holies.

A bloody, writhing mass slid out, tumbled across the mattress, and flopped onto the floor where it scrabbled, claws ticking on the linoleum and carving furrows.

Its angular head spun this way and that, jaws snapping as it let loose an eerie cry that froze icicles on my spine--

“Hello, little one,” Cathy cooed, kneeling. She held out a hand. “Can you understand me?”

It rumbled. Hissed. Tick-tick-ticked away and toward the mediocre shelter offered beneath the hospital bed. Too close to my toes for me to be very happy about it, to be honest.

Undeterred, Cathy spoke again. A series of strange sounds that were not quite words, not quite musical tones. Fey language?

The feyling paused, but would not approach.

Cathy inched closer and the thing opened its maw and roared-screeched-shrieked until she retreated.

“The feyling will not come to you,” a man calmly informed all of us. I looked up and over Trowa’s shoulder as he straightened. Sylvia’s hand tightened on mine with renewed strength.

Standing in the far corner of the room, nowhere near either the door in this windowless room or even the damn air vent, was Angus Maxwell. My grandfather. The Teacher. One of the Fey Fates.

He said again, “The feyling will not come to you, Weaver. She is my charge.” And then, just when I was getting used to seeing his steel-gray hair and slender form standing in the room under the florescent lights, he melted, shifted, twisted into a four-legged beast, hunch-backed and shiny to the point of glistening as the light reflected off of some kind of armor or exoskeleton.

A low rumble vibrated from his throat and across the floor, thrumming against the soles of my feet and beckoning the feyling.

It chirped in answer.

A rapid clicking, rising like a question.

The feyling scampered over and skidded to a halt, presenting itself to its mentor. The Teacher put out a clawed arm and the feyling climbed up, skittering all the way to the Teacher’s shoulder. And then the beast pushed itself up off of the ground. As it stood, it returned to the likeness of my grandfather. The feyling curled around his neck like a winter scarf and I literally could not think of a single thing to say.

“Thank you, Duo,” Angus Maxwell said. “You have accepted your purpose. There will be balance again because of you.” He looked at Trowa. “Your previous incarnation was very close to being destroyed for refusing to acquiesce to our will for so long. Do not make the mistake of thinking you must carry the weight of the Fey world upon your shoulders.” He turned toward Solo. “You ignored my instructions. Almost too late. Never doubt your heart for so long again.”

He lifted a hand to the horrifying creature that was now tugging on his wool vest, chewing on his shirt collar and smearing drying blood all over the place. Petting it, Angus Maxwell added, “You have visitors. In the hall below. You’d best see to them.”

And then he turned around, walked toward the corner of the room, and passed right through the walls. Without leaving a single smudge behind.

“Guess that answers how nobody found any feyling before this,” Solo mumbled, numb.

“You knew him?” Sylvia asked, her voice hoarse and shook myself.

“Yeah. He’s one of the Fey Fates.”

“That’s just a legend.”

“I think a lot of legends are experiencing a revival today,” I said, but that was not the matter of the moment.

Wufei had clocked it too: “What did he mean about visitors in the hall?”

“I guess we’d better check it out,” Solo said.

Cathy offered, “I’ll make sure Heero is moved.”

“No,” Sylvia protested. “I’m fine. Let me go to him. He’ll want to leave as soon as possible.”

I winced. “Yeah. I am sorry for that,” I told her. “But not for you still being alive right now. No regrets on that score.”

“I’ll let him know,” she assured me wryly, wincing as she sat up. “He might just forgive you in a couple of decades.”

Despite the light tone, I knew she wasn’t joking. “You sure you’re OK?” I glanced at Trowa who placed a hand on her arm one last time, easing whatever aches he’d missed before in the kerfuffle.

The pinched quality in her expression eased and then vanished completely. “I’m OK now.” She smiled sadly, “But I think this must be goodbye for a very long time.”

“Take care of yourself, Syl. If you need us, call.” Heero or no Heero.

She nodded and then we really had to get moving.

I was exhausted. So was Trowa. Solo and Wufei weren’t looking too hot, either, but we only had the duration of a short elevator ride to pull our battle faces on.

The fey court was as full as it had been just the other day -- god had that only been, like, two days ago? -- and it was clear that plenty of fey had decided to camp out right here, keep the party going until the Silencer finished handling whatever he’d rushed off take care of and came back to continue the fun.

“Is this frickin’ Woodstock?” Solo muttered and I would have laughed if I hadn’t just followed the gazes of the multitudes right to the obsidian stage and the six figures standing on it.

The Silencer was there. And so were the philosophers. All five of them.

Among the crowd, lively speculation faded into faint murmurs as our entrance caused a tidal rippling from wall to wall. So, I figured this was our cue.

Ready or not. My chin inched up and Trowa moved forward, leading the way. Bodies moved, shifted aside, but to tell you the truth the whole “parting like the Red Sea” analogy just didn’t fit. Because, as badly as I wished it could be, this wasn’t an escape. We were heading into a battle and, as we mounted the steps, I couldn’t help bracing myself for one that was gonna be uphill.

“Your message has been delivered,” the Silencer reported calmly and with the barest of smug grins.

We both knew I hadn’t sent a message. I hadn’t asked him to deliver one, and I definitely hadn’t asked him to play host to these geezers. The majority of which I had a legitimate reason to want their heads mounted in the men’s urinal of highway truck stop.

I said, “We can see that.”

“Another mock?” J pompously assumed, narrowing his eyes at Trowa.

G inquired, “Are you sure you wish for these negotiations to be made public?”

“Perhaps you don’t grasp just what is at stake here,” H mused.

Trowa spoke, “We understand just fine.”

“Tell us again,” I invited, “what you’re offering.”

J rolled his eyes. “That would negate the offer.”

“OK,” I said, “then we’ll fill everyone in.” I nodded to Trowa and he smiled, showing very sharp fey teeth.

“Three days ago,” he began, “my banishment was rescinded by Professor H.”

The room was deathly silent. Every pair of fey ears tuned into Trowa’s soft words.

“An incident required me to travel to the fey realm. I was treading absent invitation upon lands once belonging to Treize and now held by Quatre Winner, when I was death-locked by these three philosophers--” He identified each in turn with an icy glare. “Professor G, Doctor J, and Instructor H, along with my companion, his brother and his friend. For no fore-spoken transgression.”

Confusion blossomed in the silence.

Trowa sent me a quick look out of the corner of his eye, and I took over. “When the three of us got out, you guys were there, offering to keep my consort’s death a secret if I handed over myself -- the Sicarian -- for you to control.”

Gasps and whispers overrode the general befuddlement.

“Foolish human creature,” J accused. “In making Trowa’s death widely known, you enable one of the masters to resurrect him.”

“They can try,” I said, “but it won’t work.”

Trowa’s hand lifted, brushing my shoulder and then cupping my chin. We angled toward one another for a brief kiss, proving our joining.

Facing forward again, Trowa picked up where I’d left off: “I stand here now due to the efforts of my allies and brothers and companion, Duo Maxwell.”

“You are all mocks!” G screamed in accusation.

“What you suggest is not possible,” J excitedly declared.

H added, “Not unless a human sacrifice was used.”

“There was no human sacrifice,” Cathy spoke up, stepping forward from the crowd. “I stand as witness to that.”

G spat, “Then how!”

Master O suggested, “Perhaps a simple proof of identity will provide an explanation.”

“Do you volunteer yourself?” Trowa asked and O nodded. He crossed the stage to where we stood and I glanced toward the Silencer, who nodded once in encouragement, looking a helluvalot more confident than I felt because, sure, the last time I’d touched an attacking fey, he hadn’t been destroyed and, shit, Trowa had said he could sense a difference in me. But what if whatever I’d done to tuck the Sicarian’s power away had been permanent? What if I tried to call it out and got bupkis?

Talk about performance anxiety.

But. It was kinda do or die.

I pulled off the glove on my right hand. O reached out, but hesitated to grasp it. At his shoulder, Trowa pressed a palm to the philosopher’s upper arm.

OK, then.

I grasped O’s hand.

Nothing. Nothing happened because the Sicarian didn’t sense him as a dangerous deviant. Which meant I had to backslide in a big way. Right now.

I thought of Trowa, crouching in that underground cell, offering his life, neck exposed, submitting to the fact that he had to die--

I thought of Trowa in Zechs’ clutches, submitting to the bargain they’d made all for the sake of an audience with Quinze and Instructor H, who had just been waiting, biding their time for Trowa to seek them out--

I thought of Trowa in the cold, lonely forest, blocking my path, keeping me from falling into the dell entrance, his back exploding with brutal cuts in punishment--

I thought: no. No, he is mine! Mine to protect and love and encourage toward a destiny of his choosing! MINE!

Gasps and breathless screams.

“Duo!” Wufei.

“That’s enough, dude!” Solo.

I opened my eyes and released the charred hand from my grasp. Trowa’s eyes were squeezed shut as he concentrated hard. Harder than I’d ever seen him have to work before. But he was winning against the crackling, smoldering ash, pushing it back, healing Master O with tidal waves of golden energy.

“Jesus. Overkill,” Solo critiqued, speaking out of the corner of his mouth.

Wufei, meanwhile, looked impressed. So I guess that meant that I was even more effectively lethal than I’d been before. Oh, yay.

The philosophers -- G, J, and H -- stared wide-eyed as the golden light spanned O’s chest and reached his opposite shoulder. Doktor S simply watched with smug patience as his ally’s arm was healed down to the elbow… then the wrist… and finally four fingertips and thumb.

“As good as new,” S declared, kicking off a wave of excited chattering in the crowd.

O agreed, “Yes. Refreshing, as well.”

Trowa turned toward the accusers. “Have my companion and I proven our identities to your satisfaction?”

“No!” G insisted.

J pointed out, “We require an explanation for how Trowa was resurrected without the aid of a master or a human sacrifice.”

“The only alternative process that is known,” H drawled, smiling like he honestly glimpsed victory on the horizon, “requires the Weaver--” He gestured to Cathy. “--the Healer, and nine offerings of life’s blood.”

J spelled it out: “The Healer cannot resurrect himself.”

The Silencer was almost smiling as he looked my way and asked conversationally, “Would you like to tell them, or shall I?”

I shrugged. “Why don’t you show them.” To G, J, and H, I said, “Take your best shot.”

They followed my nod toward the Silencer, who they all still thought had to be some kind of mock. The only way they’d figure out the truth was if we shoved it in their stupid faces.

And then -- oh, shit -- and then all of the fey world would know that I’d brought the original Silencer back. That I could bring fey back from the Void. That I could do the impossible. If I hadn’t been so frickin’ exhausted, I would’ve figured this shit out earlier. As it stood now, I had seconds at most to decide how I was going to play this.

The Silencer faced the three philosophers, arms outstretched wide in invitation.

G accepted. He leaped forward, mouth erupting with fangs and hands gleaming with claws and slashed-slashed-slashed. A strike across the throat, chest, and belly.

Zorro style.

Behind me, Solo snorted.

Yeah, this was gonna be a fun joke to circle back around to later.

Much later. Because, right now, I was going to be walking a tightrope for how to explain the miracle of this “mock” healing himself with no visible aid whatsoever from my consort.

G stepped back, sputtering. “I don’t--I don’t understand.”

J looked thrilled. “This defies explanation.”

H’s brows arched. “Unless, you are also the Healer.”

Damn it. The stout, little, round shit had just stolen my thunder.

I took it back: “Yup. This is the Silencer. Take a bow, man.”

Enjoying the moment immensely, he bowed. “Philosophers. The last time our paths crossed, you had revoked my name and banished me to the Void.”

“Unbelievable,” G murmured, numb with shock.

J drew his fisted hands to his chest and stomped his feet on the platform in pure glee.

Eyes wide, H scanned the Silencer critically. “But you are not resurrected.”

“No, at the moment, simply visiting.” He glanced over at me before continuing, “You’ll have to forgive the Sicarian for not explaining it in detail. A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Turning to me, S said for the benefit of all, “You have found a way to break the barrier.”

Master O also observed, “You have also found balance with the power of the Sicarian.”

I nodded. “I don’t have to destroy.”

Just that and no more. Sometimes “less” really is “more.”

“And now,” the Silencer said, gazing at G, J, and H across the metaphorical table that had clearly turned, “we offer you a bargain.”

At my side, Trowa tensed.

The Silencer ignored him and said, “Duo Maxwell will not recall your enemies from the Void so long as you cease exploiting your fellow fey. Any and all future ventures must be fully detailed to the council _**and**_ the fey you would use. In addition, its anticipated effects must be made general knowledge, available to all.”

“No more shady shenanigans,” I agreed. “Your work will be a community effort or no effort at all. So long as you abide by this, Dekim and his ilk will stay right where they are.”

G pointed toward the Silencer. “And him. We want your vow that this Healer is confined to the Void.”

“No,” Trowa refused before either the Silencer or I could open our mouths. “He will come and go as needed.”

G challenged, “And just who will be the judge of what is needed?”

“The resistance,” I said. “The council. Me. If the fey need his help again, he’ll be here.”

The Silencer nodded. “Are these terms agreeable, philosophers of the fey?”

J nodded vigorously. O inclined his head. S gave his consent with a satisfied smile. H actually looked excited about this development, probably because he thought he could convince an Eskimo to buy ice. G gritted his teeth and jerked his head once in affirmative.

“Agreed.”

The Silencer dismissed them and turned to face me and Trowa. “And now to conclude our transaction.” He lifted an arm, gesturing toward the main doors.

Trowa’s arm curled around my back and he ushered me off of the platform. Solo and Wufei tagged along, keeping pace with the Silencer. The crowd shuffled back, gaping, and I was so glad I wasn’t a fly on the wall. The sheer volume of enthusiastic speculation that was about to erupt would squash it like, uh, a bug.

The doors closed behind us.

Hundreds of voices exploded into boisterous conversation.

Hello, big bang.

“Damn,” Solo said with a wince. “How long you figure it’s gonna take them to talk themselves hoarse?”

Wufei replied, “Earplugs would be a more viable option.”

“Viable. Really?”

Wufei grinned.

I rolled my eyes. Wufei had zero need for kicks and punches to intimidate my brother. Just a university-level vocabulary. It was kinda funny and a whole lot sad.

I told Solo, “I’m gettin’ you a dictionary for your birthday. Heads up.”

He glared and punched the elevator call button hard enough to make his knuckles crack. “I know what viable means, dipshit.”

“Then stop acting like it’s gonna bite you on the ass, jerkwad.”

We took the elevator up to our floor and entered my-and-Trowa’s suite. The show was over -- both the Maxwell Brothers Banter (Elevator Remix) and the resurrection that the Silencer had agreed to. It was time to remove the rings. For sure, Hilde would be glad to be back. And pissed that she’d missed all the fun.

“Wait,” Trowa said as I tugged my left glove off. He said, “You can dissolve magical barriers. You know his name. You could resurrect him from the Void.”

The Silencer quietly pleaded, “Do not. Please. What I know would be lost. As all the memories of our origins have been lost.”

And I had to agree that having a record of the old ways would be damn useful. If for no other reason than to make sure we didn’t end up repeating the same mistakes.

Wufei proposed, “What if there was a way to archive that knowledge in the library? Then all who are capable of visiting would learn fey history.”

Right. Because stone didn’t hold onto things that were emotional or personal. The information would be just that: information. It would be up to the individual fey to determine how they used it.

“Knowledge is power,” Solo remarked.

The Silencer looked intrigued. “I would not be opposed to this, or to returning to serve the resistance, if the knowledge I now possess would be available for me to regain.”

I nodded. “We’ll give it a think.” Because, honestly, I wasn’t sure how to even go about transferring memories from a banished fey into stone. Good thing Wufei liked researching so much. Solo was gonna be shit-outta-luck, though, because this was surely the eve of one helluva dry spell before he got some TLC from his boyfriend. Smart was sexy, sure… until books got priority over booty.

“In the meantime, you know where to find me.” The Silencer bared his left hand and offered it to me.

I took a deep breath, accepted the Sicarian within myself, and offered my left hand to him. “At the same time,” I coached and, each of us firmly gripping the other’s ring, slid them off.

The Silencer blinked… and was gone.

“Whew! What a rush!” Hilde gasped, swaying dramatically and flopping back on the sofa with a squeal of springs and wood frame. The dazed look on the mocked Silencer’s face was -- not gonna lie -- frickin’ hilarious.

Hilde shook her head and, panting, reverted back to her punkie punk rocker self. And hell yeah she was pissed about having to get the skinny secondhand. But Wufei and I let Solo take point on that. It make him feel important. And besides, the rest of us had other shit to get done.

Much later, after Trowa had pushed me flat on the bed and ridden my cock long and slow and deep,, after ’d coasted my way through some seriously intense afterglow and washed up on the shores of my own brain, I asked Trowa why he’d brought it up at all -- why’d he dangle a carrot like that in front of a fey who was basically his twin and rival?

He shrugged. “If the resistance has their general back, then I have you. Just you.”

That was actually a really intriguing option if I were being totally honest with myself. But every miracle cure has a catch: “Yeah, but two fey healers… wouldn’t that be setting the fey world up for a civil war? It’s like two prodigal sons. Two princes. People take sides and the country is torn apart.”

Trowa huffed in irritation, wrapping his arms around me and tucking his chain against my head. “You care too much about the rest of the world.”

It was an accusation. “No, I care just enough. Because we’ll have to live in that world, and if it’s not safe, then what have we got? A whole lotta fear.”

“And each other.”

 ** _ **“That**_** we’re always gonna have. No matter what, babe.”

“Do I hear a bargain?”

“Yes. You do.”

So, life and things simmered down. A bit. It was more of a routine that gained momentum than actual peace and quiet because, hey, we’re talking about fey here.

Scores got settled. The blood and whatever got cleaned up. I still couldn’t get used to those no-holds-barred bouts, but I couldn’t deny that they were more effective than handing down prison sentences or beheadings.

Long-deceased fey got summoned back to life. And more recent loses, like the ones who had fallen at Niagara. One by one. Darlain was among them. Apparently, the head that Winner had made a video recording of being burned to ash had belonged to one of the fey's previous incarnations and not Maureen's companion. Trowa and I both stood watch over his emergence -- and a good thing we had, too. Hilde hadn''t been kidding about that default setting. But Darlian calmed down and shaped up. It took the combined efforts of several fey to get him back into a rational headspace, but when he asked, "Where is our Relena? Is she well? Safe?" we figured he was good to go.

Wufei recruited Midi and Helen to help him with research. He insisted on getting read-in on everything in the fey library... just for starters. Solo complained. Wufei limited his mental masturbation to eight hours a day. For the other sixteen hours? Well, let’s just say I was really glad the wall that our suites shared was a thick one. Almost totally soundproof. 

“I do not understand,” Trowa complained, glaring at that wall as muted (but clearly very loud) vaguely rhythmic thumps and intermittent shouts reverberated. “Are they fucking or fighting?”

I shrugged and popped the last bite of dinner into my mouth. “For some people, they’re synonymous.”

Trowa stared at me across our plates at the kitchenette island.

“I am not one of those people.”

He snorted and reached out a hand to me. “I am glad,” he said, “that you are exactly who you are.”

Wryly, I prompted, “Your companion?” This was usually the part where he got all feyishly territorial and possessive. It wasn’t exactly annoying -- I couldn’t afford to let it annoy me because it was never gonna change -- but it was predictable.

Trowa threaded our fingers together. “Do you recall a promise I made you in Boston?”

“I recall **_**a lot**_** of you and me in Boston.” I waggled my brows. “Kinda an overload of recall. So if you’ve got one specific moment in mind…?”

He did. And it wasn’t one of the naked ones. Yeah, that was a first.

It was, in fact, the moment we’d fumbled into a declaration while sitting on the floor of my brother’s room. And I guess exchanging vows with your ass on a carpet that hadn’t been shampooed in the last decade implied a certain irreverence that was just not cool.

But when Trowa woke me up early the next morning (and not the super nice orgasmic way), I didn’t complain.

“What do I wear for this?” I asked him.

“Whatever is easily removed,” he replied with a tiny smirk that cheered me up immensely.

We headed for the portals, passing increasingly familiar faces in the corridors of Faerieland. The room was empty when we got there. Trowa gestured me into the furthest gateway and in we went. A rumble of stone later and out we stepped into fey lands.

A meadow stretched out in all directions. The wind swirled, carving spirals into the thick grass and making the stars spin on the horizon. Above our heads was a burbling brook with tributaries that branched out in all directions.

“There are many arbors,” Trowa reminded me.

I honestly didn’t have a preference. “You choose.”

He pulled me close and lifted a hand to the water, trailing his fingertips in its tumbling current. I watched as trickles streaked down his arm, twirling and tornadoing us both up in a dry, warm funnel of wind. We slipped downward, right through the ground at our feet, and were deposited in a world of ice and sand.

Not gonna lie, after hearing about cherry blossoms and apples and honeysuckle and the like, I was kinda disappointed. I was also alone. Weird.

But that was par for the course in this place.

“Tro?” I called out, grateful that at least I wasn’t freezing my ass off here.

“Come to me at the arbor.”

I spun around and, sure enough, there was an arch of crystal-clear ice twisting up out of the white sand. “I can’t see you,” I complained, approaching the thing and frowning at the silvery membrane stretched over what should have been an opening. I mean, the whole purpose of an arbor was to let people pass through it, right? But, no. I was in the fey realm. All bets were off.

“You will. Just keep watching.”

I tried not to cross my arms or tap my foot. This was supposed to be a big deal, whatever it was. It was definitely a big deal to Trowa. I’d expect him to be on his best behavior at our wedding, so I tried to be patient and not gnaw at a hangnail.

And then movement. A slender, pale figure approached. I could see him in the mirrored surface, which rippled like a mirage in desert heat, but this place was neither hot nor cold despite the ice. I kept my eyes peeled as Trowa strode up, his form gaining clarity and definition. He was wearing fey leggings -- either the same ones he’d had on back in the forest of Nith or a new pair -- and I could make out the green scars on his knees through the sheer weave. His chest was gloriously bare and his face…

My brows twitched with surprise. His face was covered from the bridge of his nose down in some kind of beaded veil. It looked like strung ivory, but I knew better. Given the lecture on making bone adornments that I’d gotten from the fey library a while back, well... it looked like Trowa had put that knowledge to skillful use.

“So we’re going traditional, huh?” I asked.

“Not traditional, precisely,” he replied, “but truthful.”

“Truth? That’s a big deal.”

“It is. This arbor was created for the purpose of revealing one’s inner self to another. Many fey masters insist on completing formal vows of fealty here.”

“And now we’re using it for our declaration?”

“Yes. Touch the mirror and I will see you as you truly are.”

“OK,” I said and took the warning as instruction. I reached out and placed my bare palm against the gently swelling surface.

On the other side, Trowa sucked in a harsh breath.

Shit.

“It’s bad, isn’t it? I look like some kind of--”

“Fey,” Trowa breathed out in wonder. “You are fey, Duo Maxwell.”

I shook my head. “How can that be?” But even as I asked, I knew. I’d learned their ways. I’d lived with their magic inside me for years. I’d taken a consort. I’d accepted the Sicarian. I was fey regardless of also being a red-blooded human.

“You are…” Words failed Trowa as his gaze hungrily moved over me. “I did not expect this.” His gaze met mine. “To be so fortunate.”

My mouth curled up in a lopsided smile. “Well, it’s nice to know I can still surprise you.”

“A skill with unlimited duration, I’m sure.”

“Now you show me,” I demanded eagerly.

He pressed his upraised hand to the mirror and…

“I don’t see anything different about you.” After his reaction to my reflection, this was kind of a letdown.

But then he reached up with his other hand and released the beaded veil. It fell to his chest where it rested as a necklace, revealing his nervous smile. “How about now?”

“Nope. It’s just you, babe.”

“Babe,” he echoed quizzically. “You see your husband?”

“Every inch of him.” And… oh. Oh. That was the point. This was Trowa’s true self: not a feral fey, not the Silencer, just the boy I’d married. The _**human**_ boy. “You’re…? This is really you?” But it couldn’t be. How could I be truly fey if he wasn’t?

“In our case,” he told me, moving his hand to the center of the mirror and I did likewise so that we would have been touching palm-to-palm if the barrier hadn’t been there, “we are joined. Perhaps what we see is what each of us inspires in the other.”

“I like that.”

“And I love you, Duo Maxwell.”

“I love you, too, Tro.” I bit my lip, blinked against the sting of tears, and swallowed thickly. “This the part where we say our vows again?”

It was. 

And after -- after the magic had swept through us, threaded us together with golden pleasure and pure delight, and after the mirror dissolved and we fell against one another, entwined with single-minded need, our bodies straining to be closer, as close as humanly and magically possible, Trowa’s arms around me and thighs wide, gasping past sharp teeth against my tender neck as my hips locked us together over and over and over again until we hit critical mass and exploded into faerie dust and infinity and pure light -- after all that, I pulled Trowa tight against my chest. With an arbor of ice at my back and our legs splayed across powdery sand that actually felt rather nice against bare skin, I murmured, “Kinda wonder…”

He tilted his head back and quirked a brow, prompting me to finish my thought.

“What do I look like -- as a fey?”

My human husband and fey consort grinned. “I’ll draw it for you sometime.”

I pressed a kiss to his brow, his temple, his cheek, his lips. “Deal,” I said, and it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is DONE. *flops back and dies*
> 
> There are a few ideas that I did not end up using, which makes me a little sad. Like, I would have enjoyed seeing Mariemaia team up with Duo and Trowa for an adventure thing. And it would’ve been awesome for Dorothy to wander back around and cause mischief, but alas.
> 
> If you have an idea for something you'd like to see added to this ’verse, GO FOR IT! Write it or draw it or sing it or pantomime it or WHATEVER. Drop me a line and I’ll put an AO3 collection together for all the awesome. d(^_^)b

**Author's Note:**

> AND! I've revamped my Dreamwidth account. If you're too shy to leave me a comment here, but would very much like to chat at me in private, you can do that here:  
> manniness.dreamwidth.org  
> (^_~)


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